


Drop Dead, Gorgeous

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 156,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14724752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: Set in modern day. Wealthy Melbourne socialite and philanthropist, Phryne Fisher, has manipulated her way onto a reality television show for her own purposes. Her highly rated season is disrupted by a suspicious death, igniting a fire in her to solve the murder and another kind of flame for the handsome detective assigned to the case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (Some of my original characters are loosely based on characters from The Bachelor parody Unreal.)
> 
> I never thought I'd write another AU. This fic was suggested by a tumblr post from Dorothy-Williams (formerly Lucys-Preston) and I have to credit it for helping me to snap a rather long creative writing drought. I would officially gift this to her but don't know if she's on AO3.
> 
> A big thank you to @Inzannatea (Zanna23) for beta-ing this chapter.

Six different monitors captured the scene from every angle and all eyes in the trailer were glued to the flickering screens.

“She looks good tonight. Hot,” Victoria said.

When she’d first seen the dress Phryne had insisted on, Victoria had been furious. The bugle beads would shimmer on camera but that was all it had going for it. It wouldn’t show nearly enough skin, hung shapelessly from the hanger and gold was a notoriously difficult color to pull off for someone with such a fair complexion. She’d order Mal to make Phryne see sense but the woman wouldn’t be budged.

Victoria was expecting a washed out disaster on screen. She’d never been happier to be proved wrong. The dress was stunning. It draped beautifully and clung to every curve as though it were an extension of the woman wearing it.

And wear it she did! Phryne exuded sophistication and class while somehow still looking like sex on a stick. The audience wouldn’t be able to tear their eyes away. It was a dress that would launch a thousand memes.

“Who’s the designer?” Victoria asked.

“Some friend of hers. No one you’ve heard of,” Mal said.

That was going to take some explaining when the designer of the dress that was supposed to have been featured got wind of it. Just another fire Victoria would have to put out. Ratings aside, this season’s ‘Damsel’ was more trouble than she was worth.

“We have to handle her differently than previous contestants,” Mal argued for the umpteenth time. “She’s savvier than most.”

“She’s a pain in the ass.”

“But she knows how to sell it,” Mal said.

“That she does,” Victoria grudgingly admitted.

They turned their full attention to the screen. Phryne, beyond gorgeous in her shimmering, gold gown, was smiling at her ‘Knights,’ all lined up before her like so much cattle at auction.

Each man clearly telegraphed to the audience their designated stereotype. There was the gentle giant—a former footballer turned kindergarten teacher. The cocky American wall street bro with his slick backed hair and silk suit, expertly tailored to hint at a ripped physique earned by hours at the gym.

Purposely stood next to wall-street Warren was the free spirit, Cato, in a loose linen tunic, clam diggers and cork sandals. His ‘man bun’ was almost too cliche.

Next to Cato was the distinguished war hero, with his perfect posture, neatly groomed salt and pepper hair and roguish smile. Lyle was here as the token older man. The father figure.

The group was rounded out by a gangly, bespectacled geography professor who had made such little impact that he could disappear without anyone missing him.

Lastly there was the show’s bad boy. An arrogant bully by the name of Chad that the audience loved to hate.

He was an up-and-coming entertainment executive who oozed charm from every pore whenever Phryne was in the vicinity but had made more than one enemy of his fellow contestants.

The camera panned over to the show’s host. 

> _“We started this evening with six eager knight’s in shining armor. Tonight, one, or maybe more, will be banished from the castle forever. It’s time to discover who is one step closer to finding their ‘happily ever after’ with our alluring damsel. Phryne, have you made your decision?”_
> 
> _“I have, Kurt. And it wasn’t easy.”_

“Did he say more than one?” Victoria barked, spinning in her seat to glare at Mal, her dark eyes flashing angrily. “You promised me you had her under control!”

“I do. She understands what’s expected. It’s just a tease. The audience loves her unpredictability.”

“Unpredictable,” Victoria said, sarcastically, “that’s putting it nicely. Do you know who she’s sending home tonight?”

“She said she hadn’t decided.”

“It had better not be our bad boy. We need him.”

“It won’t be,” Mal said, sounding less than confident.

“Does she have a front runner?” Victoria asked.

“No idea.”

“Damnit Mal! What do you know?”

The control room fell quiet again to focus on the action on the screen. Three men, the gentle giant Reggie, wall street bro Warren and yoga-boy Cato were already standing behind Phryne, each clutching the coveted favor from their lady that signaled they’d been chosen to stay.

Phryne called the war hero forward.

> _“We haven’t had much time together, Lyle, but I felt a connection with you that first night and I’d like a chance to explore that. Will you accept this token?” She held out a length of blue satin ribbon._
> 
> _“I’d be honored.”_
> 
> _Lyle leaned forward to demurely kiss Phryne’s cheek before joining the other men behind her on the stage._
> 
> _There were now two men left standing and only one ribbon. Phryne twirled it in her hands as if contemplating carefully her next move._
> 
> _“This was a difficult decision for me.”_

“A difficult decision?” Victoria blurted. “Really? Ichabod Crane there is a snoozefest. He was supposed to go in week one! How is this even a question?”

“She’ll make the right choice,” Mal said. “Don’t worry.”

The silence on screen dragged on. Phryne looked truly torn by the decision before her. Finally, she sighed with resignation, squared her shoulders and looked Chad in the eye. 

> “ _Chad. You haven’t made this easy for me. I’ve been appalled by some of your recent behavior. I don’t want that kind of negative energy around me.”_

“Mal...” Victoria’s tone held a venomous, warning tone.

“Just wait,” Mal replied, holding her breath.

> _“That said, I believe your apology to be sincere and there is an energy between us that I’m not ready to give up on.”_
> 
> _Looking all too pleased with himself, Chad stepped forward to collect his prize. He grasped Phryne’s hand and pressed it firmly to his lips while staring into her eyes with a bold determination._
> 
> _“You won’t regret this.”_
> 
> _“Make sure I don’t.”_

The control room let out a collective sigh of relief, congratulating themselves and paying little attention as Phryne let the school teacher down easy. A minute later, after some sentimental blathering on screen from Kurt, Victoria called it all a wrap for the day.

“Right,” she said, “we got out unscathed this time but you need to get her under better control, Mal. And Chad too. He’s _your_ guy and, love him or hate him, he’s ratings gold. Let him show his true colors around the other guys but keep it from her! We need him in it as long as possible.”

“I know how to do my job!” Mal snapped.

“Do you? Were you really so sure she wouldn’t cut him tonight? Because I wasn’t. She was livid when she heard about that stunt. And how did she find out about it anyway? Have we figured that out yet?”

“No. It was only caught on one of the cameras in the guy’s quarters and Arthur still thinks it was accidental.”

“Well, she found out somehow and she’s pissed off.”

“I can handle her. Just be glad she doesn’t know about the rest of it,” Mal said.

“I can’t believe I let myself get talked into using this diva. She’s more trouble than she’s worth.”

“We’re pulling in our highest ratings ever, Victoria. Our audience adores her.”

“Hmm,” Victoria grunted. “I need a drink.”

* * *

 

Phryne stood still, raising her arms as the sound girl removed her mic.

“Thanks, Clara,” she said.

She’d made a point of learning the crew members’ names early on, down to the coffee boy, and always addressed them politely. She’d seen the way they were berated for any tiny infraction and did what she could to make their day a little more pleasant.

“Good show tonight,” the young woman replied, smiling at her.

“Do you think so? I hope I did the right thing.”

“Cutting Arthur?”

“No,” Phryne said, emphatically. “It was beyond time for that. Sweet man, but dull as dry toast.”

Clara laughed. “Yeah. We were wondering why you kept him so long.”

“I had a cousin named Arthur that I was extremely fond of. I lost him last year. I think I was allowing sentimentality to color my thinking.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Clara said.

“Thank you. He was very special. I still miss him,” she said, tears pricking her eyes. She brightened, suddenly. “But, it would have been unfair to string _this_ Arthur along any further. He was never going to THE one.”

“Any idea who is?” Clara asked, eagerly.

“You’ll have to wait and see like the rest of the world.” Phryne flashed an enigmatic smile.

Truth was, none of them were the one. Phryne didn’t think there was a man alive that would tempt her to settle down. And if there were, she sure as hell wasn’t going to find him here.

She could never say that out loud though. She had to play the part of an eager participant in this farcical search for true, and everlasting love until she'd accomplished her goal.

As the mic wires and tapes were being removed from where they’d been strategically placed on her person, Phryne saw Mal heading her way and groaned quietly.

“Want me to run interference?” Clara asked.

“Could you? I just need a few minutes.”

“Sure thing. You’re free,” Clara said, snatching up the last of the equipment. “Get going!”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

Phryne hurried away to her rooms leaving Clara to intercept Mal with some benign question she’d most likely get chewed out for asking.

She locked her door and quickly peeled the dress from her body, letting it drop in a heap to the floor. Thinking twice, she snatched it back up and carefully hung it in her wardrobe. Dot had worked hard on that dress and it was spectacular.

She wrapped herself in her black silk, kimono-style robe and headed into the bath to retrieve the burner phone she kept hidden at the bottom of a box of tampons.

She sat down on the lid of the toilet and scrolled though her messages. There were two from Dot and one from Mac. She was about to open the first message when she heard the knock she’d been expecting at the door of her suite. At least she’d had time to change her clothes.

“Phryne? It’s Mal. Can you let me in?”

Phryne heard the door handle jiggle. Privacy was non-existent in the castle. Even the lock would only keep Mal out for so long. She had her own key and didn’t hesitate to use it.

“Hang on! I’m in the loo,” Phryne called back as she quickly buried the phone back in it’s hiding place. She made a point of flushing the toilet before going to the door.

“Good show tonight,” Mal beamed as she pushed her way in. “So, five knights still standing. Do you have a front runner yet?”

“Can we do this tomorrow, Mal? It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sorry, we can’t. We need to make a decision about the one-on-one. It’ll take time to set up and we’ll want to get a jump on that first thing. What do you think about Chad?”

“For the one-on-one? Are you kidding? That is not happening.”

“He’s a fan favorite and drop dead gorgeous.”

“There’s more to a man than his looks.”

“Yeah, like his body, and Chad’s got that going for him too.”

”He’s an ass. He’s worse than an ass, he’s a criminal,” Phryne said.

“That’s a bit strong, don’t you think? Maybe it really was an accident.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Well, at worst it was just an immature prank,” Mal shrugged.

“He’s a grown man and it was dangerous,” Phryne insisted. “Arthur might have died! Food allergies aren’t a joke. Look, I did as you asked. I kept him on in spite of my better judgment. But I will not reward him with a one-on-one. I want Cato.”

“Yoga-boy? Really? I mean, he’s got a smoking hot bod but he’s kind of tiresome, isn’t he? All that earnestness.”

“I enjoy talking to Cato. He’s had a very interesting life. And there is a real chemistry there.”

She wasn’t lying about the conversation part but it was the chemistry Phryne was thinking about just now. She’d been stuck in this castle for close to a month. She was in need a release beyond the capabilities of the battery operated device in her bedside drawer.

“Victoria’s not going to like this,” Mal warned.

“Victoria needs to remember that I’m doing her a favor and let go of this grudge. It was weeks ago!”

“You cut three guys on the first elimination!”

“Two of them were non-starters and the third had a kid. I told you up front, no kids. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a wife, he was looking for babysitter.”

“You could have just sent the guy with the kid home and at least given the other two a shot!”

“Why waste my time? And theirs? Victoria’s a shrewd business woman, surely she understands that.”

“We have a set number of weeks to fill and there’s a formula to this. You threw it out the window and blew up our model. And Victoria likes to hold a grudge. They fuel her.”

“How are the ratings?” Phryne asked, crossing her arms in front of her defiantly.

“Excellent, as you well know.”

“Then Victoria should be grateful I was available to fill in when your first choice fell through.”

“Can you at least appear to be a bit more cooperative? For my sake? I just want what’s best for you,” Mal said, her expression softening into an impression of concerned sincerity. 

Phryne laughed.

“You’re shameless, you know that? But I like that about you. Do you really think I’m naive enough to believe you’re here to help me? I can appreciate that you have an agenda of your own, Mal, and I will cooperate, but I don’t like being manipulated. It’s Cato, or this season's bad boy goes home tomorrow night,” she threatened.

“Alright. I’ll convince Victoria that Cato's our guy for this. How about a romantic cruise on the river. We’ve got a fabulous sailboat.”

“What you’ve got is a sponsor that sells sailboats,” Phryne countered sarcastically.

“True, but it really is very nice and you could stop for a swim. A wet Cato always makes for good TV.”

“I’m not in the mood for sailing. I’m thinking Bikram yoga.”

“The viewers don’t want to watch a yoga class!”

“They’ll want to watch this one. Trust me. Pump the heat up in the room and put Cato in the shortest, tightest kit you can find. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Mal’s face brightened.

“You can set up an intimate dinner for later in the evening. I’m sure we will both have worked up a good appetite,” Phryne said.

“I think even Victoria will get behind that,” Mal said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Good,” Phryne said. “Now, if we’re done here, I need my beauty sleep.”

As soon as Mal had gone Phryne returned to the bathroom. She tried not to spend too much time in there to avoid arousing suspicion but it was the one place she knew for certain there was no camera. That had been a deal breaker in her contract.

Even so she didn’t really believed they’d honor that and had done a thorough sweep of the space on her first day. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find they had kept their word about the bath but there were cameras all over the rest of her suite. All wired to transmit directly to control room in real time.

As she had many times before, she thanked her lucky stars for her friends Cec and Bert. It hadn’t taken long for them to find a way to hack the system. They were currently collecting footage so, if the need arose, they could take the cameras off-line and loop in the previously recorded tape. So far, Phryne hadn’t needed to use that option but she felt better knowing it was available.

She got the phone out again to check the messages she’d seen earlier.

Dot’s texts were chatty and cheerful and designed to lift Phryne’s spirits. The girl was an angel. Mac’s one message was short and to the point: ‘ _Sample arrived intact. Will be in touch with results’._

There was nothing more to be accomplished tonight, which was just as well because Phryne was exhausted. She cleaned the make-up from her face, brushed her teeth and fell into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne is tiring of life on the reality show and struggles to keep up the facade. She finds a little stress release with the one contestant with whom she feels a connection, but her scheming backfires, putting her in hot water just as an unfortunate event occurs and changes the stakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I jammed a lot into this chapter in the hopes of getting to the main event. I hope you'll hang in there with me!

* * *

 

The early part of the next day was taken up with a group outing on that sailboat Mal had been pushing. The sponsors needed to be appeased one way or another.

Phryne was growing increasingly tired of this flower and bumblebee routine. She’d ducked away and headed below deck to the bathroom for a moment's peace. She was forever hiding out in toilets these days.

She’d been treading a fine line since her first day on the set of _Happy Ever After._ Perhaps it was a cynicism in her but she’d been surprised to realize that some of the men were entirely sincere in their hopes of finding their one true love. Having no such intention herself she’d been taking steps to eliminate those men as quickly as possible but cutting three in one night had immediately put her on the wrong side of Victoria

It had been a risky move but had at least served to demonstrate that she refused to be controlled and manipulated. Victoria was equally strong-willed, smart and a little ruthless. At times it was the proverbial unstoppable force meeting immovable object but Phryne could hold her own. She just needed to hang on until the season finale in a few weeks time. She’d have the test results back from Mac by then and she was positive they would reveal the truth.

She straightened her sun hat, plastered a smile on her face and headed back up onto the deck where she was quickly accosted by an over-eager Warren. It was always like this on an elimination day and was only getting worse as the number of remaining men dwindled, especially if a man could sense his time on the show coming to an end.

Warren wasn’t here to find true love. His only goal was to remain on the show as long as possible. He’d done modestly well in his career as an Investment Banker but what he really wanted was be a television star. He’d unsuccessfully tried to get himself cast in the U.S. version of the show three times. He’d also auditioned for the Canadian version and the one in the U.K. before finally landing this spot. Since arriving at the castle he’d spent more of his time buddying up to Chad, who he thought could help him, than wooing Phryne.

Warren was wasting his time on Chad. He had no interest in helping Warren and couldn’t even if he tried.

Chad would like people to believe he was a successful executive in the entertainment industry, but to-date he’d done little more than throw a bit of his trust fund at a few projects to get his name on the billing. Then he'd make a nuisance of himself on set by attempting to seduce every young women in the cast or crew. His presence on _Happy Ever After_ was all about his hopes of becoming a celebrity in his own right.

While Chad had no intention of helping Warren, he didn’t discourage the other man’s attention. Now that Arthur, the original target of his bullying, was gone, Chad was happy to have Warren to push around. The other men had learned early on to steer clear of Chad and even Warren seemed to be growing tired of the childish antics he applied to get himself more air time.

“Christ, you’re boring. Don’t talk her ear off, mate,” Chad said, barging into the conversation between Phryne and Warren. “Here, princess, I’ve brought you a drink. Can’t have you wilting in this heat.”

“Delicate flower that I am,” Phryne replied, dryly.

She took the drink he passed hoping her sunglasses were dark enough to hide that her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She needn’t have worried. Chad’s gaze was firmly fixed on her breasts.

She spent the next several minutes performing a subtle two-step in an attempt to redirect Chad’s hands as they settled on various parts of her body. She put up with the trailing finger on her shoulder as he commented on her freckles but when she felt him grab her ass, she lowered her sunglasses just enough to peer over them and raised an objecting eyebrow.

“You seem to have lost track of your hand, Chad.”

He laughed, and gave her ass another squeeze. “Hey, you put it on offer in that bikini. I’m just testing the merchandise to see if I want to buy. Isn’t that why I’m here?” 

“Charming,” she said, pursing her lips.

She wanted more than anything to deck the guy. She had a mean right hook. Instead she calmly removed his offending hand and excused herself as quickly as possible. After that she managed to avoid being too close to him for the rest of the outing.

By the time they had returned to the castle, Phryne was more than ready for her one-on-one with Cato. The yoga alone would be a welcome way to release some of the tension she was feeling and, if things advanced as she hoped they might, the next time she had to face Chad and the others she could do it in a greatly improved state of mind.

She changed into capri length lycra leggings and an athletic bra and headed for her next location.

The crew had done an impressive job of converting the large conservatory to act as a yoga studio. Each of the gothic framed windows was now covered with sheer white fabric that softened the light in the room. The cool tile underfoot had been covered with much warmer and pliant bamboo flooring and a misting water feature had been added in one corner. The soft sound of bubbling water mingled with the delicate flowery fragrance of Ylang Ylang creating a dream-like atmosphere.

Sending a painfully obvious message, the producers had decided to place a large cushion, the size of a small mattress, in one corner of the room.

Other than this none-too-subtle hint, the overall effect was lovely but the most attractive thing in the room was currently bent into a modified downward dog, one leg extended up behind him. His clinging athletic shorts accentuated the firm muscles of his thighs and ass. He wore no shirt and, with the heat in the room cranked up, his caramel skin glistened with a light sheen of perspiration.

Cato spotted her and Phryne saw his face, upside down from her perspective, break into a grin.

“You started without me,” she said, approaching as one camera followed behind her and several others fanned out around the room. By now she was well practiced at ignoring them.

“Just working out the kinks,” Cato said, righting himself and coming over to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. He rested his hands on his hips, appraising her.

 “It’s clear you’re fit.”

 “Thank you. I can say the same for you,” she said, placing one palm over a very firm pectoral muscle and swaying a little closer to him.

“How much experience do you have with yoga?” He asked, smiling at her flirtation.

 “I’ve dabbled, but feel free to correct my form whenever necessary. I’m here to learn.”

In actuality she’d been practicing for years, having even spent a month in a spiritual retreat at the foot of the Himalayas, but it suited the narrative better to appear a novice.

“Where would you like to start?” He asked.

“I’ve always been curious about couples yoga.”

“Interacting with another person can increase the intensity. If you’d like to give it a try I promise not to push you beyond your limits.”

“I rather enjoy testing my limits.”

They started out sitting with legs crossed at the ankle, back to back, using each other for support.

“Rest your hands on your thighs, close your eyes and feel the connection between us,” Cato said softly. “Inhale deeply. As you breathe out, I breathe in. Note how your rib cage presses into mine. Feel the way our breath joins us, and open your heart.”

His voice was soft and soothing with a distinctive come hither tone and despite the fact that this was supposed to be relaxing, Phryne felt a tight coiling in the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the heat of his back against hers. She pictured the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

In the control room Victoria turned to Mal.

“Is this it? Are we just going to watch them sit there and breathe?”

“Give it time. She said she’d make it worth our while.”

“She said? Just who is managing who, Mal? I’m getting sick and tired of this woman calling the shots!”

“It’s easier to work with her than against her!” Mal insisted, “and we can edit this to speed things up—look—they’re moving again.”

“Remain with your back against mine to keep the connection,” Cato said. “Inhale and reach your arms overhead, lengthening your spine. Exhale and twist, reaching to place your right hand on my left thigh.”

As Phryne followed his instructions Cato mirrored her movements resting his warm palm on her right leg, just above the knee. They held the pose through several breathes and with each exhale intensified the twist while sliding thier hands further up each other’s thigh.

“Well, this is slightly better. At least their putting their hands on each other,” Victoria conceded.

“We can cut the dull stuff,” Mal promised again, as the couple on screen moved through a few more poses. The tension in the room was building but it needed catch fire soon.

Cato helped Phryne to her feet and faced her, putting several paces between them. Despite the minimal exertion and the supposed calming effects of yoga, his breath was coming rather fast and his voice had taken on a huskier quality.

“Keep your feet under your hips, inhale and extend your arms overhead. Now, bend forward until our hands meet. Hinge at your hips and continue the bend, bringing your forearms to rest against mine.”

They held this position, backs bent at a right angle to the floor, forearms pressed together, hands palm to palm. They stared intently into each other eyes.

Victoria instructed a camera to move in close and watched it zoomed in on Phryne’s lips. They parted slightly upon her inhale drawing Cato’s eyes to them. Wordlessly they entwined their fingers and straightened to standing. Slowly they walked toward each other until their bodies were pressed together with their joined hands stretched high above their heads.

Phryne freed her hands and ran them from Cato's wrists, down his muscular arms to his chest.

Slowly they explored each other’s bodies with thier hands and then, finally, Cato gripped her around her waist and pulled her tight to him, his lips meeting hers in a soft, eager kiss.

“There! _”_ Mal crowed. “The audience is going to go nuts!”

“Okay! This is getting somewhere,” Victoria agreed. “Nice touch with that cushion too. Let’s hope they put it to good use.”

Phryne was lost in the kiss and feel of the body pressed to hers. For a moment she forgot about the cameras until Cato began steering them toward the cushion on the floor and her awareness of their situation returned. She knew that this was what everyone was waiting for but she had no intention of providing that type of entertainment. She pulled away from his kiss. Cato seemed to understand her sudden reticence.

“Do you believe in an energy that can flow between spirits, Phryne?” he asked, softly.

“I do,” she answered.

“I’d very much like to explore that energy with you. I think we could have something special, but I don’t want to rush you.”

Other than the location Phryne had no objections. As far as she was concerned a mutually agreed upon, sexual encounter, however brief, was perfectly acceptable as long as both parties understood the boundaries up front, but without being able to speak freely, conveying her intentions was proving a bit of a challenge.

“Cato. I like you. Very much, and I’m extremely attracted to you, but I’m not ready to make any kind of commitment. Nothing that might happen today is likely to change that. Do you understand that?”

“Of course. We’re neither of us at that place yet, but I’d like to get closer to you, in every sense of the word. I believe that the sharing of sexual energy between consenting adults can be a beautiful experience, even fleetingly. And, for me, sexual compatibility is an important part of a relationship—were we to ever get to a more committed place—as I hope we might,” he said.

“I completely agree.”

“I’m developing some strong feelings for you Phryne. I wanted to tell you, and if you’ll allow, to show you. But it needn’t be now. It needn’t be ever.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She pulled herself close to him, nuzzling into his neck and whispering quietly enough not to be picked up by the microphones.

"My window. As soon as you can. Try not to be seen.”

She felt him nod in understanding. By now the shrewder inhabitants of the castle had learned that if you stuck to certain paths, most of them out of doors, you could avoid appearing on screen for much of your journey.

He gave her one last passionate kiss for the cameras and she thanked him for the yoga lesson before they went their separate ways, one camera following Phryne to the door.

“That’s it!?” Victoria yelled. “That’s all we get? After all that build up?”

“It’s good! It’s sexy,” Mal argued, “and we couldn’t use any more _intimate_ footage anyway, we’re on in primetime.”

“We could show a hell of a lot more than what they gave us! That was barely a tease. Where’s she going now?”

“Looks like back to her rooms.”

Phryne had taken a route that would set off every one of the motion sensitive cameras in the interior hallways and ensure she’d be seen entering her room alone.

“What about him. Where’d he go?”

“Not sure,” Mal said, scanning the monitors for Cato. “There he is. Looks like he’s heading for the pool.”

“I’ll just bet he is. Keep with him another minute then shut it down. And bring me Chad. I’ll be in my office,” Victoria ordered Mal.

“What do you want with Chad?”

“Someone needs to make up for the lack of promised fireworks today.”

“She gave us a lot to work with!” Mal argued. “It’s a slow burn.”

“We don’t do slow burns! This isn’t a Jane Austen adaptation. Or maybe it is. Look at that fool. All he needs is the clinging white shirt,” Victoria mocked, pointing to the monitors.

Mal turned to watch as Cato dove into the pool.

“I’ll bring her in line,” Mal said.

“I’ve heard that before.”

* * *

Phryne rested between Cato’s knees, her head falling back against his chest. As she’d anticipated, he’d been a generous and versatile lover, not the least bit daunted by the challenging aspects of sex in a bathtub. Granted, this tub was enormous, more like a small pond really, but she had to give the man credit. He was wonderfully flexible.

“It’s a terrible waste, this,” he said, waving his hand through the cooling bath water. “Do you have any idea how precious a resource water is to most of the world? In fact this whole place is a blight.”

“Can we not worry about the rest of the world just now. I’m feeling relaxed and happy for the first time in weeks.”

“Of course,” he laughed, “my apologies.”

“No worries,” she said, generously.

“You’re a remarkable woman, Phryne. And incredibly sexy. Why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could have your pick of men. I find it hard to believe you’re really here looking for someone to marry.”

“It’s complicated. Why are you here? You don’t strike me as the type for this either.”

“I’d been living a rather nomadic and solitary life recently. When I returned to Melbourne I found it hard to adjust to the energy of the city and relate to other people. One day I was meditating in the park when I was approached by Mal. She said she thought I’d be a fit for her show. I’d never heard of it. I don’t watch much TV, but I thought meeting her might be some kind of sign. I try to remain open to all possibilities in life.”

“I like to think I do too. I don't want to lie to you anymore, Cato. I’m not looking for a husband. Not here. Not anywhere. I don’t like deceiving people but—well, like I said, it’s complicated.”

“Fair enough. Everyone is entitled to their secrets,” he shrugged. He stepped from the tub and helped her out as well. "We should probably get moving before they come looking for us but I’d very much like to see you again, if you find that agreeable."

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Good. Can we make it soon?”

“As soon as we can manage, but we need to keep this just between us—as much as that’s possible.”

“Of course. Shall I go back out through the window then?” He said with a cheeky grin.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m game to give the audience a little something to talk about if you are.” 

Phryne knew she’d catch heat for this stunt. She’d all but promised some titillating footage and had fallen a bit short on delivery. She thought allowing Cato and herself to be caught by the cameras in a passionate embrace inside her bedroom, with her wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe, might be enough to appease Victoria. Cato had no objections.

After a bit of pashing she walked him to her door. She’d only just closed it and caught her breath when there was a knock. She pulled the door open expecting to find Cato there with some joke about seeing her again as soon as possible.

“Chad,” she said, warily. As pushy as he’d been, he’d never showed up at her rooms before.

He stood in the hall with a grin on his face that turned her blood cold. She held the door only partly ajar, blocking his entrance with her body. 

“Is there something you want?” She asked. 

“You could say that.” Without awaiting an invitation that was never coming, he pushed the door open and brushed past her.

“I’m not exactly dressed for visitors.” She clutched her robe closed tightly, suddenly feeling very exposed.

“You’re dressed just fine for my purposes. Maybe even overdressed,” he said, reaching for the tie around her waist. She slapped his hand away.

“Get your hands off of me.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how this game is played. I saw him leave. I’m just here for my equal time.”

“Not on your life.”

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back so she had to look up at him.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, forcing a violent kiss on her. She struggled against him and finally succeeding in shoving him away.

“Get out!”Her voice was steady and ice cold but the shaking hand she raised to wipe his taste from her lips betrayed her. He smiled triumphantly and he threw up his hands in mock defeat.

“I get it. You’re tired. Besides, you reek of _him_ and I'venever been a fan of patchouli. I’ll give you time to recover and clean yourself up.”

“You’ll never touch me again. I’ve only kept you here this long because I was told to, but after this, even Victoria will let me send you packing,” she threatened.

“I don’t think so,” he smirked. “You don’t seem to understand who is really in charge here. Victoria won’t let you cut me. She sees my value to the franchise. I _will_ get what I want. Sooner rather than later, sweetheart.”

Phryne’s eyes shot to where she knew the cameras were hidden as a bitter realization dawned. She’d been set up. Victoria had decided it was time to put her in her place by showing her how vulnerable she really was here. Phryne didn’t think Victoria would go so far as to let Chad assault her, he’d probably already gone further than instructed, but if she hoped to retain any freedom, or protection, Phryne would need to play by the rules from now on.

She shoved Chad out into the hallway. Having delivered his message, he didn’t fight her anymore.

“I’ll see you soon, princess,” he sneered, blowing her a kiss.

She slammed the door shut, pounding her open hand against it in frustration. She’d been careless. She’d pushed her luck too far. This could ruin everything. She flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. She needed time to think.

Phryne awoke to a darkening room. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep and quickly checked the time. It was almost seven o’clock in the evening. According to the day’s call sheet, she’d been due on set over an hour ago.

She quickly found the assigned dress for her dinner with Cato in the wardrobe. It wasn’t really her style. Flowing pink silk chiffon with flutter sleeves. A bit too sweet and romantic for her tastes but the unexpected low cut of the back made it deceptively sexy. It really was rather pretty and maybe Victoria would see it as a concession. She put it on, swiped her signature red lipstick across her mouth in case they didn’t have time in make-up and hurried out to the courtyard.

Instead of the frenzied atmosphere she’d expected, she found members of the cast and crew milling about aimlessly and speaking in hushed tones. There was no shouting, no cameras or glaring lights.

She spotted Cato huddled with his fellow contestant, and roommate, Reggie. She caught his eye, beckoning him over.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Chad,” Cato said. “He’s dead.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chad is dead and Phryne meets the rather civilized detective investigating the case. 
> 
> There are too many suspects and the murder threatens to upend Phryne's plans, but would it be terrible if she thought her luck wasn't entirely bad?

Cato had turned up for his call time just as the ambulance arrived. Then it had gone away empty and word had spread that Chad was dead. Shortly after that, the police showed up.

“The police were here?”

“A few still might be, but most of them left after a guy in a suit arrived. I heard someone call him inspector. Maybe he’s a health inspector?”

“Might they have called him _Detective_ Inspector?” Phryne said, trying not to smile as his innocence.

“That does make more sense,” he acknowledged, sheepishly.

“If they sent a DI they must suspect foul play,” she said, mostly to herself.

“You mean murder?”

“Where was Chad found?”

“In his room. The bathroom, I think.”

Since Arthur’s elimination, Chad had an entire room to himself and Cato wasn’t sure who had found him. He also had no insight as to the cause of death. In short, Phryne found him to be woefully uninformed.

She left him and made her way toward the men’s sleeping quarters. It might just be a tragic accident, but the speedy arrival of a detective made her suspect otherwise.

When she reached the yellow crime scene tape she took one last look around to ensure she was alone then bent to duck under the cordon. She found herself staring down on a pair of well-worn, but polished, brown brogues.

“This is a crime scene.”

 _Where had he come from?_ She took a quick look at the man blocking her path. In addition to the brogues he wore a charcoal grey suit— the trousers nicely tailored to fit—a snug waistcoat, a well-cut jacket, and a rather subdued grey and blue striped tie.

The look was classic in style, eschewing the recent trend of the 'skinny' suit, which Phryne thought unflattering on any man much past his twenties and less than perfectly fit (though the latter didn’t look to be a concern in this case).

She noted a strong, clean-shaven jawline, piercing grey eyes ( _correction—they were blue_ ) and loads of rather glorious and wavy, golden brown hair. These were just her immediate, casual observations.

“You must be the inspector. Is he really dead?” She asked.

“Were you acquainted with the deceased?”

“He was one of my knights.”

“Your...knights...” he repeated, somewhat questioningly. He had the most delightful voice. Smooth as a single malt scotch.

“Yes. I’m the damsel for the coming season of _Happy Ever After_.  Phryne Fisher,” she said, though he’d not asked for an introduction.

“Uh, huh.”

She wasn’t sure ifhe was bewildered, amused, or just rude. He eventually shook her outstretched hand, but never returned her introduction, and his next gesture, waving her out, was unequivocal and universally understood as a dismissal. _Just rude, then,_ she decided.

“I hear he was found in the bathroom. Curious,” she said, thoughtfully.

“Why curious?”

“Because it’s one of the few places without a camera. Awfully convenient if you ask me.”

“I didn’t. You’d be surprised by the number of fatal accidents that occur in the bath.”

“So, it was an accident?”

“Look, Miss...”

“Fisher,” she provided helpfully. “It’s murder, isn’t it. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.”

“Miss Fisher, I appreciate your curiosity but I really must insist you leave,” he said firmly.

“Don’t you want to ask me any questions? As long as I’m here? Perhaps you’d like to know how I got on with the deceased? The answer to that is, _not_ well. He was an easy man to dislike.”

“We will be talking to everyone in time, but for now, please leave.”

He went so far as to lift the crime scene tape to aid her exit. She raised up onto her tiptoes, trying to see around him into Chad’s room. She figured she had just a few more seconds before he took her in hand and physically removed her from the area. The thought was oddly stirring.

He didn’t touch her. Instead, she heard him sigh.

“Perhaps it would be best if I did get your statement now. Come with me.”

He moved away from the crime tape. She was momentarily torn between wanting to see into the room and a desire to remain at his side. He pulled a notebook from his pocket, scribbling as they walked. (She wouldn’t have gotten far into the room anyway, she reasoned.)

“Your full name?”

“Phryne—that’s P-H-R-Y-N-E—Phryne Henrietta Fisher. Middle name courtesy of my narcissistic father,” she said.

“When did you last see the deceased?” He didn’t look up from his note taking.

“A few hours ago. He stopped by my room. Uninvited, I might add, but I didn’t look at the clock and he didn’t stay long.”

“You said the bathrooms are the only places without cameras. I saw no cameras in the bedroom,” he said.

 _Sweet potatoes! His voice was velvet._ “You’re not meant to see them, but they’re there. Trust me,” she said.

His head tilted slightly, one eyebrow arching up as if to say that his trust was not so easily earned, which only made her want it all the more.

“Look,” she said, pointing to a camera they were currently approaching. “The place is lousy with them. These here are motion sensitive and the feed goes directly to the control room.”

“Closed circuit,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Exactly.”

He looked up, an almost imperceptibly frown forming as his eyes surveyed the area. There was a stillness in him that fascinated her. He gave so little away she felt the need to watch him closely in an attempt to read his mind.

They walked on as he asked a few more questions about the show, then he closed his notebook, tapped his pencil on the cover and deliberately placed both items back in his pocket.

“Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been most helpful.”

She realized he’d walked her back out to the courtyard and felt a right fool for being so easily detoured.

“Don’t you want to ask me anything else?”

“That’s all for now, Miss Fisher. You’re free to go. Should we have further questions, we will be in touch. And stay out of that hallway.”

“You know, I’d be happy to assist you, Inspector. I understand these people. Speak their language.”

“Ah. Thanks all the same. I believe I’ll muddle through.”

Even laden with sarcasm the velvet voice sent a bolt to her belly and regions south. She shivered slightly and did her best to cram down the smile threatening. What was it about this man that had her so intrigued two minutes upon meeting him? He was nice looking, to be sure, but she was surrounded by nice looking men.

He turned away from her and she hurried after him. He didn’t slow down but neither did he attempt to dissuade her from following.

“I mean no offense. I’m absolutely sure you’re more than capable,” she flattered.

“Imagine my relief,” he said, with a wry smile.

“but these people—this place—” she continued, “it’s not like the real world. I’ve been here awhile. I can help you navigate.”

“The show runner and the deceased’s—” here he consulted his notes again, “his producer, I believe they call it, have already pledged their cooperation.”

“Those two?” she said, linking her arm through his and pulling herself close enough to drop her voice to a whisper. To her delight he leaned his head toward her to better hear. “You can’t trust them as far as you can throw them. Their only concern is the show. They will manipulate this tragedy for ratings and circle the wagons to protect their own interests.”

A minuscule nod of his head made her think he’d already come to this conclusion. He paused in his step, so abruptly she was pulled up short, and turned to her.

“Tell me. What’s your interest here?” He asked.

“Every woman needs a hobby,” she shrugged, pulling her most charming smile. He looked unimpressed. She switched tacks. “Maybe I just want to see justice done. I may not have liked the man but he didn’t deserve this. No one does.”

“No. I meant why are you here? On this show.”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m looking for love. Hoping to find my soulmate.”

“And you think you might find that here?” He sounded highly amused.

It was the first time she was sure she was interpreting his reaction correctly. He didn’t even try to hide his disdain and yet she didn’t feel the least bit insulted. That may have been because she whole-heartedly agreed with him.

“Have you seen the show, Inspector?”

“No. I’d never heard of it before today, but my sergeant briefed me and it sounds ridiculous.”

“Not a hopeless romantic then?”

“I doubt anyone would think me that. I wouldn’t have pegged you for one either.”

“And why not?”

“I’ve done my research, Miss Fisher. You’re a very accomplished woman. Wealthy in your own right. Obviously highly intelligent. A woman doesn’t get to where you have by falling for false narratives like the existence of a soulmate or love at first sight.”

“Is that why you won’t accept my help? You think my presence here shows a lack of judgment?” She asked.

“I won’t accept your kind offer of help because you are a witness, Miss Fisher. Possibly a suspect and, not least of all, a civilian. A man is dead. This is not a game. Now. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my sergeant.”

“Of course. Is there a way I can reach you? In case I remember anything else?”

He reached into his pocket and handed her his card. She took it, letting her fingers brush against his, smiling slightly at the frisson that ran through her. There was a momentary flash of heat in his eyes that made her think he’d felt it too.

She knew in that moment that she would trust him. That she could trust him, but she’d have to find a way to speak to him without blowing her cover. The hidden cameras were everywhere, and while the police had probably insisted all production cease, Phryne had no doubt they were still running.

She fanned herself with his card, her smile growing as she watched him walk away. Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Who knew murder could be so much fun?

It wasn’t until he’d disappeared that it hit her. He’d said he’d done his research. He’d known who she was all along. She wondered how deep that research had gone. Surely not deep enough. Chad had only just died.

And, on that matter, it was terribly inconsiderate of him to have gone and gotten himself killed. A prolonged investigation could result in the show being cancelled and all her work and sacrifice might come to nothing.

She saw Robinson now, across the courtyard speaking with a uniformed officer. After a minute the other officer headed in the direction of the crime scene, most likely to better secure it in case there were any other nosy parkers about. Robinson made for Victoria’s office.

Phryne decided it would be in her best interests to keep a close watch on the man. Just to make sure she had his true measure before giving anything away. And what better way to stay close to a detective than by becoming integral to his investigation?

His first step would be to pin down the time of Chad’s death and determine everyone’s whereabouts. No small task considering the sheer number of people on set, but the CCTV footage should help and luckily Bert and Cec were still intercepting the transmissions. 

By now a large crowd was gathered in the courtyard and word was spreading that an announcement was forthcoming. She’d have to hang around for that, but as soon as she could head back to her rooms, she’d contact the boys and have them send a copy of the footage they’d captured to Dot.

With her eye for detail, Dot would be the perfect person to comb through the images and take note of everyone’s movements. Hopefully the list of possible suspects could be winnowed down to a more manageable number.

She was so lost in thought she didn’t notice Lyle’s approach until she felt his arm go around her shoulder.

“How are you holding up, kiddo,” he asked.

She bristled at the condescending endearment and the way he tended to touch her so freely, without awaiting an invitation.

“It’s just awful isn’t it? He seemed so fit,” she said, turning to face him and deftly stepping out from under his arm.

“A little too fit,” he said.

“Meaning?”

“I hate to speak ill of the dead.”

“It’s a bit late for that, Lyle. Spill.”

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “steroids.”

“No. Really?”

“It was obvious. No one can maintain that kind of lean muscle mass without help.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard he spent a fair amount of time in the gym,” Phryne argued.

She thought Lyle’s accusation might just be the older man’s jealousy at the ease with which the younger man maintained an enviable physique.

“He is in there night and day, but I don’t care how much weight you lift, those arms of his, and his pecs—they aren’t normal. And then there’s the acne.”

“The acne?”

“On his back and shoulders. A sure sign of steroid abuse.”

It seemed Lyle had paid more attention to Chad’s body than she ever had. Although she’d only ever seen him with his shirt off during filming and she was usually trying to keep her distance. She’d have to inquire of the make-up crew regarding the supposed spots.

“It’s disappointing to hear he may have been doping. Could it have played a role in his death, do you think?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Prolonged use can have some serious ill effects on a body, including liver and heart problems.”

“You seem well informed on the subject.”

“No more than the average person,” he blustered, coloring slightly, “but we really shouldn’t be talking this way. It’s unkind.The man is dead,” he scolded.

His sudden defensiveness made Phryne think his knowledge might be firsthand. The type of man that joined a show like _Happy Ever After_ tended to be highly confident, even vain. And Lyle was the oldest of the men here. The pressure to hold his own, much less stand out, must be immense.

She filed this information away and let him change the subject, though she resented his use of ‘we’ in his mea culpa. It wasn’t she that had been disparaging Chad.

Lyle had moved on to speculation about the future of the show but she was only half listening. Victoria had emerged from her office along with Detective Inspector Robinson and she didn’t look pleased. Phryne was delighted to see that Robinson’s expression said he couldn’t care less about her displeasure. She wished she were close enough to hear their exchange.

Victoria turned away from him and snapped her fingers at the nearest crew member, barking out some instruction that had the girl scurrying toward the castle. Then she headed toward the center of the courtyard. Robinson stayed put, leaning against a support post for the overhead deck to quietly observe from a distance.

The crowd in the courtyard caught sight of Victoria and conversations ended abruptly as they gathered around for the promised announcement.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, a tragedy has befallen our _Happy Ever After_ family,” Victoria began.

Cynically Phryne thought the only tragedy Victoria saw was the disruption to her shooting schedule. And given the sour look on her face, that disruption was likely to continue for awhile.

“We lost one of our own today. Chad Chestler was a remarkable man. A true knight in shining armour. We are all heartbroken.”

Looking around, Phryne saw plenty of shock, and perhaps some morbid curiosity, but few tears. Her gaze fell on Jack Robinson, still leaned against his post, and she was startled to find him looking back at her, his expression unreadable.

She held his eye in a visual game of chicken. He proved a worthy opponent, not so much as blinking, even after his sergeant approached and spoke into his ear and then stood waiting patiently for a response.

Finally, his mouth curled ever so slightly up at one corner and she could have sworn he gave her a tiny, conceding nod before pushing off from the post and following his sergeant inside.

Victoria was announcing the suspension of filming for a few days. Not surprising given the circumstances. When she said that the police would be remaining at the castle to begin an investigation into Chad’s death, a gasp ran through the crowd.

“I’m sure we will be up and running again in no time,” she said, misinterpreting the room’s concern. “Meanwhile, I’ve been asked to request that everyone remain on set or, for the crew members for whom that is not possible, we have provided your home addresses. You are all to make yourselves available to the police at their convenience. And, whether you are on set or off, I’m sure I needn’t remind you that you have signed contracts and the rules of secrecy still apply,” she reminded.

She then spent a minute and a half describing the hellfire that would rain down if anyone even hinted at recent events to any other living soul, or if so much as one cryptic word appeared on a Twitter or Instagram feed. Termination, fines and even charges for breach of contract awaited anyone stupid enough to risk talking.

Victoria finished with her speech and the whispers that had been humming below the surface rose to a din. Chad’s death was shocking enough but the news of a police investigation was cause for astonishment, wild speculation, and not a little suspicion. This was a closed set. It didn’t take a genius to realize that, if Chad’s death was intentional, his murderer was among them.

Phryne had been keeping her eye out for the inspector but hadn’t seen him return to the courtyard. She was debating between a reconnaissance mission to try to discover where the police were setting up camp or returning to her rooms to get her own investigation rolling when she felt strong arms coming around her waist from behind and pulling her back against a solid mass..

“How’re you holding up, Petal?”

“I’m alright, Reg,” she said giving his hands a squeeze and leaning into his chest.

After a successful run as a football player, Reggie had gone back to school to get his teacher’s license. He now taught kindergarten and talked about the children in his class with a proud affection that was endearing. He was just a big teddy bear, too pure for this viper’s den. Phryne had grown very fond of him, as evidenced by the way she found his nickname for her sweet rather than annoying, but there was no spark there.

She wondered when this categorizing of the men by their potential as a lover had started. It was evidence of how this place was getting to her.

Other than her illicit mobile phone, which she used as little as possible, she had no contact with the outside world. The list of things they’d been allowed to bring with them to the castle was shorter than the list of what to leave behind.

Obviously laptops, tablets, phones and televisions were banned, but Phryne had been shocked to learn she couldn’t bring in books, newspapers, or even her own music. And, for someone used to keeping abreast of world events, being without access to any type of news had been a difficult adjustment.

For weeks she’d had only this small group of people with whom to interact, while every hour of every day being asked to consider, rank and choose among them, as though they were chocolates in a sampler box rather than living, breathing people. It wasn’t surprising to find she’d become slightly brainwashed. But it was disappointing. She needed to do better. Reggie deserved that. They all did.

“How are you feeing?” she asked, him.

“Not sure, really,” he said. “It’s hard to believe. I just saw him.”

“Did you spend much time with Chad?”

“To be honest, I avoided the guy. Bit of an arse if you ask me, but I suppose I shouldn’t say that now.”

“I won’t hold it against you. But, you say you saw him earlier? What time was that?”

“It was just after we got off the boat. I went to the gym and he was there. He spent a lot of time there. Acted like he owned the equipment.”

“When did he leave?”

“Don’t know. He was still there when I left. I didn’t stay long.”

“No?”

“Like I said, the guy could be an arse. But I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”

There seemed to be a lot of that going around. Phryne got the impression that Reggie was holding something back and by the way he avoided her eye she wouldn’t be shocked to learn it had something to do with her. Considering the way Chad spoke to her, she could only imagine how he spoke about her, and Reggie had proven a bit overly protective at times.

“It’s a horrifying turn of events. Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, “Do you want to get a drink and talk about it? Or not talk about it. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks Reg, but I think what I need is to be by myself for a bit.”

“Sure. Find me if you change your mind though, yeah?”

“Of course.”

The first thing Phryne did upon returning to her rooms was to disable the ‘hidden’ cameras. She’d found one on her own that first day. Once Bert and Cec had hacked the system they’d been able to help her find the rest by analyzing the angle of the images coming from her room. It helped to know where they were when trying to avoid them.

It was rather enjoyable to destroy them now. If, as she suspected, Victoria was still collecting footage despite police orders, she would be angry with Phryne’s sabotage but could hardly call her out on it without getting herself into trouble. Phryne almost hoped she’d try. A showdown between Victoria and Detective Inspector Robinson might prove entertaining.

Once the cameras were down she contacted her friends on her hidden mobile phone. Out of an abundance of caution she remained in the bath and kept to messaging though the secure app Bert and Cec had created despite desperately wanted to actually speak to someone outside this place.

She filled them in on Chad’s demise and her idea of how they might help find out what happened to him. The boys promised to get the CCTV footage to Dot as quickly as possible and Phryne promised to do her best to narrow down the hours Dot needed to review.

Until she could do that, she asked Dot to concentrate on following Chad’s movements on his last day, and to pay special attention to the time he spent in the gym. After her conversation with Reggie she thought there might be some insight to be gained from that footage in particular. She only hoped it wouldn’t implicate Reggie in Chad’s death.

Next she wrote down everything she could remember about the pranks and scrapes and general mischief Chad had indulged in during in his time in the castle and who he might have rubbed the wrong way. The list was long. It was nearly two in the morning when she finally paused for a breath. She was too amped up to go to sleep.

She considered a middle of the night attempt to once again breach the crime scene but the body would have long ago been removed and Robinson had probably put extra security measure in place after her last attempt. Besides, what she really wanted right now was a drink. They weren’t allowed to keep booze in their rooms, and she’d never been desperate enough to hide any in her bath, so she headed for the fully stocked bar in the interior of the castle.

This place she’d called home for the last several weeks wasn’t really a castle. Not in the true sense of the word, though it resembled one, with its stone walls, gargoyles, ramparts and arches. But real, historical castles didn’t have theater rooms with surround sound or jacuzzi tubs.

This castle was barely a dozen years old and had been built by someone with more money than sense. The man had made millions during the tech bubble, getting out before it burst, and then blown it all building a modern day castle fit for the king he thought himself to be. He couldn’t maintain it in the long run and now rented his lavish home out to film companies, and the like, to make ends meet. The producers of _Happy Ever After_ were his steadiest clients.

Phryne was passing the billiards room when she head the distinct clack of the balls as they collided and dropped into pockets. Her first thought was to skirt around the room to avoid having to speak to anyone but her curiosity won out. She poked her head in and then stepped through the doorway to watch the room’s lone occupant.

He was bent in half, lining up his next shot. His eyes flicked up briefly when he spotted her but he finished the shot before straightening and leaning on the pool cue.

“Trouble sleeping, Miss Fisher?”

“Apparently you suffer the same affliction, Inspector. When Victoria said the police were setting up an office, I assumed, well—”

“That we’d keep office hours?”

“Something like that, yes.”

He laid the pool cue down on the table, giving up on his game. He’d removed the suit jacket and was wearing only the trousers and waistcoat. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to his elbows revealing nicely muscled forearms.

“I wouldn’t know a regular hour if it hit the back of my head,” he said. “What has you out and about?”

“I’m not much for regular hours either. Can I interest you in a nightcap?”

“A nightcap?”

“A drink, Inspector. You’re familiar? There’s a very well stocked bar in the next room and I hate to drink alone.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall as if he might have somewhere else he needed to be at two o’clock in the morning. Then his head bobbled, tilting from side to side as he considered her invitation.

“Maybe just the one,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightcap and conversation.

In the next room, she slipped behind the massive bar and watched him run his hands over the gleaming countertop on the opposite side.

He had nice hands. Large, with long fingers and slightly knobby knuckles. No rings.

Not married, then. Not that he was of an age for that to be unusual. She figured he wasn’t much older than she. Or, it could be that he was divorced. But if that were the case, it had been long enough ago for any evidence he’d ever worn a ring to fade.

 _Or maybe he’s gay, or just uninterested in the institution of marriage_ , she chided herself. None of this was any of her business.

“It’s antique,” she said, of the bar. “French, 19th century. I believe they built the room around it.”

“How does a place like this even exist?”

He turned and leaned back against the bar, taking in the vaulted timber ceiling, massive stained glass windows and enormous stone mantel over the fireplace. She couldn’t tell if he was disgusted by the excess or in awe of it all. She remembered having a similar reaction upon her arrival.

She gave him the brief history, explaining the owner’s ‘no detail too extravagant’ philosophy for building.

“Those huge double doors at the entrance came from some medieval Spanish fortress and there are curtains in the dining room that once hung in Balmoral Castle, or so they claim.”

“Considering a career as a tour guide?” He asked, with a smirk.

“There’s a brochure. And not much else to read around here.”

“I noticed that,” he said. “I took a book from the shelf in that library and it was nothing but a false cover with blank pages inside.”

“Yes. It’s all for show. But this isn’t,” she waved her hand at the wall of booze behind the bar, posing like one of those models on a game show. The selection was staggering.

She promptly ignored all the bottles on display and pulled one from under the bar pouring herself a glass from it.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll have what you’re having,” he said, without hesitation.

“Neat?”

“As it comes.”

“Excellent choice, Inspector,” she said, pouring out a generous portion and pushing it across to him.

“You might as well call me Jack,” he said. “Everyone else does.”

“Alright, Jack. And you may call me Phryne.”

She waited for it—the inevitable question about her unusual name—but it never came. He’d already moved on from introductions and was enjoying his first sip of the whisky. She saw his Adam’s apple bob. At some point tonight he’d loosened his tie, and undone a button or two, revealing the little hollow at the base of his throat.

“Mmm. Very nice,” he hummed in pleasure as his eyes drifted shut.

She hadn’t taken a single sip so the sudden warmth settling in her belly couldn’t be blamed on the whisky.

“It’s a personal favorite, but a little pricey for my salary,” he said, holding the glass up and examining the amber liquid inside.

“The liquor is one place they've spare no expense on this show. Of course, they get most of it free in product placement deals. This, however, was in my contract. The others touch it at their peril.”

It was a bottle of Willett Single Barrel Straight Rye Whiskey. Over $100 retail. She grabbed it and came out from behind the bar, heading for the armchairs flanking the fireplace. He settled across from her, crossing his long legs and looking for all the world like the lord of the manor.

“How did you get them to turn those off?” She asked, gesturing to a camera in the corner. The ones in this room were not hidden and she could see that the little red light that indicated they were running was not lit.

“I told them they can’t film anyone right now because anything captured could implicate someone in violation of their rights.”

“Is that true?”

“More or less. I’d rather not give anyone ammunition towards a defense. Plus,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “I was hoping to set the tone for who is in charge here.”

“Victoria is a force of nature, isn’t she?”

“She’s going to keep me on my toes,” he said. He sounded as though he was looking forward to the challenge.

“I wonder, Inspector, should you be fraternizing with—what did you call me earlier? A witness and possible suspect?”

“Rest assured, one drink will not prevent me from arresting you should you prove to be a murderer, Miss Fisher. Regardless of the quality of that drink.”

“Fair enough,” she said.

“And since you brought up my investigation, why didn’t you mention that the deceased had assaulted you?”

She should have seen this coming. She looked down at her drink to buy some time before answering.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but I’ve watched the tapes from today. I saw him put his hands on you on that boat,” he said.

 _The boat._ That was something of a relief, but she was sure there was footage of the assault in her room and wondered what reason Victoria had for withholding it.

“It was nothing every woman alive hasn’t dealt with at one time or another. Chad was a pig but I could handle him,” she said.

“That much was clear, but why handle him? Why didn’t you send him packing weeks ago? From what I understand, you get to decide who stays and goes around here.”

“Every season needs its villain,” she shrugged.

“So you kept him on for the ratings?”

“It wasn’t my call.”

“You mean this whole thing is a sham? You’re not really here to select the love of your life from this carefully selected group of men assembled just for you?”

“You think your mocking is clever, don’t you?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him and trying hard to look stern to hide her amusement. His feigned disillusionment was a little entertaining.

“You’re smarter than this,” he said, “you can’t possibly be invested in this nonsense.”

“I can’t tell if you’re flattering me or insulting me!”

“Probably both,” he said, shrugging his shoulders before draining his glass.

“Don’t make me regret sharing my booze with you.”

“Speaking of which...” he waggled his now empty glass with pleading eyes. She laughed and poured him a second helping.

“It’s not that crazy,” she argued, amiably, “and not that different from other methods. Match.com, or Tinder, for instance. Or, are those beneath you too, Inspector. Come to think of it, I can’t imagine you swiping right.”

“You’ve known me all of two minutes,” he said.

“You’ve known me no longer and have already seen fit to judge my actions.”

“I’m not judging,” he said, his tone softer and sincere. “I would never judge you. This whole concept is just hard for me to wrap my head around and I can’t help but think I’m missing something. Do you enjoy this? Being here?”

“It has its moments,” she said, refilling her own glass. “I’ve met some interesting people.”

“Like that yoga instructor? Cato-no last name?”

“You really did peruse those tapes, didn’t you?”

“Again, not judging, just trying to form a picture in my head of the allegiances in this place.”

“You make it sound like a battlefield,” she said.

“I’ve heard that said of love,” he smirked. “Look, your reasons for being here are your own and none of my business. I’m sorry.”

“But you do find it odd,” she said.

“Let’s just say it’s not for me and leave it there.”

“Well then, you’ll have to be ready to turn Victoria down when she suggests you join the next season, which she inevitably will. Unless you’re already in a committed relationship?”

“As a matter of fact she did suggest something like that, but I believe her motive was bribery to get me to hurry things along. She’s unhappy with the disruption to her schedule.”

Unhappy was probably putting it very mildly. Phryne could only imagine the temper tantrum Victoria had thrown. She didn’t miss that he’d ignored her relationship question but decided to let it slide.

“You turned her down, I assume.”

“She was using the wrong carrot if she hoped to influence me. I’ll do what I can to move quickly but her show is not my priority or my problem.”

“To be fair to her, Chad's up and dying was rather inconsiderate of him,” she said, dryly, “but I doubt that bribery was Victoria’s only motive in trying to recruit you. She knows what sells.”

“I can’t tell if your flattering me or insulting me,” he said. Once again she saw that little tilt of his head, something she was beginning to recognize as a tic.

“Flattering, obviously, Inspector. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of the law,” she said, batting her eyes obsequiously.

That earned her the first real smile she’d seen yet and even a small chuckle. It felt like winning a prize.

The subject changed then, and though the somewhat superficial and mildly flirtatious banter continued, she managed learn a bit more about him.

He was divorced. Going on two years now.

"Did she find it difficult being married to a cop?”

“I think she found it difficult being married to me,” he said bluntly. “We married young and I can be a moody bastard.” There was no bitterness in his voice, but there was a hint of regret. “This life is no picnic. It’s hard to maintain a relationship, what with the long hours—and everything else.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She imagined ‘everything else’ covered quite a lot. He’d most likely seen some horrific things in his line of work. Gruesome examples of what we are capable of doing to each other. It had to affect a man, harden him and make him jaded. Would such a man be difficult to live with?

Of course, she considered herself rather jaded as well.

He didn’t seem to mind that about her. He wasn’t shocked by her curiosity or her apathetic attitude toward Chad’s demise. If he expected her to be weeping and wailing he'd never let on and even seemed to appreciate her gallows humor on the subject.

His glass was empty again, she offered to refill it.

“Better not,” he said, looking at his watch, seemingly surprised by the hour. “I’m going to need to head back into town soon for a visit with the medical examiner.”

“I wish you’d take me with you,” she said.

“To the morgue?” He laughed, "you are dark."

“Anywhere off this set. I’m losing track of how long I’ve been here and starting to forget what the outside world is like.”

“Have you really not been allowed to leave?”

“Not while the show was filming. It’s in our contracts. But come to think of it, I’m not sure the contracts still apply. They haven’t officially cancelled the season, but can they make everyone stay if we’re not filming anymore?”

There was a lot riding on this question. Her friend Mac had received the usable sample only yesterday. Sneaking things off the set proved harder than she'd planned and then the first sample she’d sent had been insufficient. Phryne hadn’t been too concerned then. She’d had the time to weather a few delays but, if there was no longer any show, if everyone was free to go their separate ways, her plans would be very much altered.

She had no intention of letting anything get in the way of her getting her man but it’d be easier if she didn’t have to chase him.

“Are you concerned one of your knights will make a run for it?” Jack asked, almost as though he’d been reading her mind.

“Something like that,” she said, smiling.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he reassured her.

“Now, _that_ was flattery, right?”

“That was fact. I observe people for a living. That man isn’t going anywhere.”

“Oh,” she said, realizing who he meant. Of course he would think that Cato was the front runner for her affections. The realization was oddly deflating. “Well, no one’s going anywhere anytime soon, I suppose. Victoria said we have to stay here to talk to the police.”

“It’d be nice to have all my suspects confined to one place but, until I have reason to charge someone, I don’t actually have the authority to make anyone stay.”

“So, when every police officer, on every crime show ever, tells the suspect not to leave town?”

“Just good advice. And honestly, it wouldn’t look great if someone _were_ to suddenly skip town.”

“Did you just confirm for me that Chad’s death is suspicious?”

“Did you really need me to?”

“No.”

“You said the man stopped by your rooms the day he died.”

She could almost see his brain switch into investigative mode.

“I did.”

“Uninvited.”

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

“Is this an interrogation, Inspector?”

“Not officially. But anything you tell me will be part of my investigation. You should keep that in mind before you answer,” he said.

His gaze was intense and she felt the gravity of the moment. He was issuing a warning. Reminding her of who he was and why he was here. He was telling her to protect herself. From him.

Oddly enough, she was quite sure that she’d never been safer.

“I have nothing to hide—regarding Chad,” she added. She wasn’t ready to tell all to him and she always tried to lie as little as possible. “He came to my room because he wanted sex. He was not happy when I, very definitely, refused him.”

“He came to your room, uninvited, and demanded you sleep with him?" He looked confused and a little incredulous. “Forgive my asking this. I’ve seen very little of your interactions with the man but, from what I have seen, well—had you given him any indication such a proposal would be welcome?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then why would he imagine he’d be successful?”

“Why does any man think they’re entitled to a woman’s body? You saw the boat footage. He thought he could touch me simply because he was aroused by the way I was dressed.”

“Are you all right? Was he violent?”

She shook her head.

“I was able to get him to leave within a minute or two. Maybe less. It might have just felt longer.”

She looked down at her hands. That encounter with Chad had left her more shaken than she’d realized and the concern in Jack’s voice brought it all back. She took a breath and raised her eyes to his again, expecting to see pity in them. He didn’t look sorry for her. He looked angry.

“What did you do next?”

“Well, I was upset. And angry. Angry mostly. I think I raged for a minute and then I laid down on the bed and eventually fell asleep.”

“You didn’t tell anyone?”

“I didn’t see the point. No one was going to do anything about it.”

“What is wrong with this place?” He asked rhetorically. “There are cameras in your rooms, correct?”

“All but the bath, yes. I assume you haven’t seen any footage of Chad’s visit?”

“I have not and I’m wondering why it was kept out of the files I was given. At the very least I should have been told of his attack on you.”

“You’re right. I should have told you.”

“You were under no obligation to reveal that until you were ready to. I hadn’t even questioned you yet. I meant by the producers. Someone must have seen it and it should have been reported to me when the man turned up dead.”

“So, you believe the footage exists? You believe me?”

“Of course I believe you. Why would you lie about that?”

“Maybe I’m setting up a defense for having killed him.”

“The man wasn’t killed in your rooms. All you’ve done is provide me with your motive.”

“That would be a pretty stupid move.”

“Yes. And you know that.”

“You might be giving me more credit than I deserve.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so. I think you knew I’d learn of this eventually and decided it was better coming from you.”

“Do you always assume people are so very calculated in their actions?”

“Not all people,” he said.

“I’ve made myself a suspect now, haven’t I?”

“Everyone is a suspect.” He rose from his chair. “Well, I should get a couple hours of sleep before driving. Thank you for the drinks. And the company. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise. Goodnight, Jack. Or, rather good morning.”

“Good morning, Phryne.”

When he reached the doorway he turned back, “One more thing, Miss Fisher.”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack returns to the castle for an extended stay and things go from bad to worse for him.

Jack learned nothing of surprise at the morgue. It had already been clear what killed Chad Chestler. No one would have survived a blow to the head of that magnitude.

There’d been the remote possibility he’d simply slipped in the bathroom and hit his head, but he’d been fully clothed, and a wound to the crown of his skull seemed an unlikely location for an accidental fall.

The medical examiner’s estimated time of death was also consistent with what Jack had already learned. It wasn’t often a case came complete with video of the minute by minute movements of both the victim and suspects. Barely twenty-four hours in, and Jack already had a fairly detailed account of the previous day.

There were gaps that needed filling, stretches of time when Chad had been out of view, but he’d been caught on camera entering his room about an hour before he was found dead and he’d been alone at the time. No one else was seen entering or exiting his room all day. Not surprising. There was no chance Jack would be lucky enough to have actual video of the murderer arriving to commit the crime.

There was also the missing footage from the victim’s visit to Miss Fisher to consider. That rankled. Jack was convinced someone had purposefully kept it from him and his money was on Victoria Quinn.

If ever there was a calculating soul it was that woman. He’d lay odds she was withholding that footage in order to show it to him when it would benefit her in some way.He decided he would not ask her about it yet. Waiting for her to reveal it might gain him more insight in the long run.

Besides, he didn’t want to disclose what Miss Fisher had told him. He knew she didn’t expect him to keep their conversation confidential but he saw no reason to share the story at this point.

When she’d said she didn’t tell anyone because nothing would have come of it, her resignation had cracked him open. He’d blamed the show but the truth was, he and his fellow officers, in fact, society as a whole, continued to fail victims of sexual assault.

Phryne knew, and she wasn’t wrong, that had she reported Chad’s aggression, there would be many that would question why she’d let him into her rooms in the first place. 

That footage from earlier in the day, on the boat, where she’d deftly handled his advances, rather than raising a ruckus or slapping him, would be pointed to as evidence she didn’t really mind his attentions. The things she’d done to get away without increasing his anger—to keep herself safe—would be seen as compliance. There would be plenty of people who would agree with what the man had said to her. That she had  'put it on offer' simply by wearing what was considered perfectly appropriate beach attire. 

It was bad enough that boat footage might air on television. He wouldn’t put her through the rest of it if it wasn’t necessary. It was a moot point anyway.  The man was dead and his job was to find the killer. Unless that missing footage proved to be consequential to the investigation, Jack didn't see why anyone ever needed to know about it. He hoped that she'd truly been able to fight the man off, and wasn't hiding anything worse, but that was her business to share as she saw fit.

Knowing that there was some film missing made him question everything he’d been given. There might be more missing or some of what he had might be altered. It was a helpful starting point but he couldn’t rely on the CCTV footage to make his case. Unfortunately, he'd still need to go through all of it and that prospect was daunting.

Under normal circumstances he’d be able to distribute all the work across a team of constables but these were not normal circumstances. He’d been ordered to solve this case quickly while keeping the investigation as quiet as possible.

Apparently,  _Happy Ever After_ was the network’s highest rated show but, more importantly, it generated a ton of revenue. Someone much farther up the food chain was getting pressure to protect it and that pressure was funneling down to Jack

It was a fairly inexpensive show to produce, with just the one location for the majority of the filming and only the star paid for appearing. (He’d learned that Phryne had pledged to donate her salary to charity.)

Far outweighing any dollars going out was the money coming in from commercial buys and from sponsors that wanted thier products featured on air. It was a cash cow. A lot of people were getting very rich off of it and they wanted that to continue.

Jack was disillusioned to the point of anger that a man had been murdered and at every turn he was finding people more concerned about the future of this ridiculous reality television show than finding justice for the victim. (That the victim seemed a vile man was beside the point.)

With orders to conduct his investigation as far from the public eye as possible, and the crime scene, not to mention most of the suspects, located over an hour outside of Melbourne, he’d decided residing at the castle was his best option.

He wasn’t allowed to assemble a team so that left him only his most trusted sergeant, Hugh Collins, to cover the bases elsewhere. Collins would remain behind to make inquiries into thier suspect’s lives before _Happy Ever After_ but Jack doubted that their pasts would come into play. The crime appeared to be one of passion and opportunity rather than premeditation.

The weapon had yet to be found and Jack assumed the killer had taken it with them. He planned to have still pictures captured from the video footage of Chestler’s room to compare with how it looked today in hopes of identifying the missing object. Whatever it was, it was heavy, with a sharp edge and had been wielded aggressively, indicating either moderate strength or a certain amount of anger.

They’d also need to get background on all the suspects, especially those that had had close contact with the victim, but he’d told Collins to concentrate first on the victim himself. Jack wanted a more complete picture of the man.

From what he’d seen on film, and from Miss Fisher’s description of the man’s behavior toward her, he clearly hadn’t been on the show for it’s stated purpose. He wasn’t trying to win her heart. His true reasons for being there might have something to do with his demise. Or, he may have just pissed someone off one too many times.

As he headed for his somewhat self-imposed exile at the castle, Jack’s Jeep now contained his police issued, encrypted laptop, several changes of clothes and his bicycle—a necessity if he was to keep from losing his mind.

He waited to be buzzed through the gates and then headed up the long drive that led to the massive house on the hill. He’d done a little research to fill in what Miss Fisher had told him about the place. She’d been right in saying the builder had spared no expense. The stones that made up the outer walls had been quarried from all over Australia.

No distance had proved too far in the quest to create this illusion of a medieval castle in the middle of Southeastern Australia. Much of the interior, like that incredible bar, had been imported from places in Europe and even America. The amount of money it must have taken was mind-boggling and the whole venture struck Jack as absurd.

His interest wasn’t simple curiosity. He wanted to know more about the layout and how people might move around inside the place. He was also interested in discovering how easy, or difficult, it might be for someone outside of the production to have found their way onto the property.

Some of the crew came and went but most lived on-site for the duration of filming and it was a closed set. There was only the one approaching drive and the gate Jack had just passed operated on an intercom system. It had to be unlocked by someone at the house.

A mile further back there was a guard station set up by the show’s production company that was manned 24 hours a day. All comings and goings were not only closely watched, but also recorded in logbooks.

The house itself sat on a very privately located 60 acre allotment among hills and valleys. Nice for some off-road biking, he noted, but arriving on foot would be challenging. Suppliers came and went, unloading their cargo just inside the mile perimeter, where it was then hauled closer to set by members of the production crew.

Jack knew of military sites that were less secure.

The production assistant that had buzzed him through the gates met him at the front door and showed him to his room. Rooms, really. There was a small sitting room off a separate larger bedroom and one of the biggest bathrooms he’d ever seen. It was only a slight exaggeration to say that his entire place in the city would fit inside it.

When he’d found his apartment, after moving out of the home he’d shared with Rosie, he hadn’t really cared where he was going to live. He’d just needed a place to rest his head.

In time he’d gotten used to the lack of space and to having neighbors on top of him. In a way, it made things a little less lonely, but as he dropped his bag onto the king sized bed in this opulent room, he thought it might not be too hard to get used to living like this either.

It took him less than ten minutes to unpack his bags. The assistant had said Victoria wanted to speak with him once he’d gotten settled and he didn’t yet know his way around the castle’s interior, so he took the only route to her office he was familiar with, through the outdoor courtyard and past the pool.

“Inspector! You’re back!”

“Like a bad penny, Miss Fisher,” he called over to her.

She was reclined on a lounge chair, wearing a sunhat that was enormous, and a bikini that was anything but. An afternoon by the pool looked inviting and she was undoubtedly more comfortable in this heat then he was, in his three-piece suit. 

A scene from a movie he’d watched with his mother years ago sprang to mind. Scarlett O’Hara at a garden party, in a hat of similar size, surrounded by at least a dozen Southern gentleman hanging on her every word.

The crowd around Miss Fisher might be smaller in number but they were no less eager. That American bloke was literally sitting at her feet in adoration, waiting for her to toss him a crumb. Poor sap.

She flashed a dazzling smile.

“Don’t be silly, Jack. You’re very welcome here,” she said.

All eyes turned to look at him and he got the distinct impression not everyone shared her sentiment.

“I hope you’ve come to put an end to this delay, Inspector.”

Lyle Compton had risen to his full height and was pulling his best ‘I out-rank you’ face. It was an expression with which Jack had grown familiar over the years.

“Lyle,” Phryne scolded, “Jack is only doing his job.”

“Thank you, Miss Fisher, but you needn’t defend me. I realize that the tragic and untimely death of Mr. Chestler has been very inconvenient for you all,” Jack said.

He couldn’t see Phryne’s eyes behind the dark sunglasses she wore, but from the way she pressed her lips together, as if stifling a a laugh, it appeared she was amused by his not-so-subtle rebuke of Compton.

“It’s a terrible tragedy, of course,” Compton blustered, “but I don’t see how shutting us down is going to help. Life goes on.”

Jack’s first impression of Captain Compton was that he was a pompous ass. He’d known plenty of military men in his day and he’d seen the type before.

Compton was a climber. Driven to rise in the ranks and willing to play the games and lick the boots needed to get there. After his retirement from the military, he had decided to turn his ambitions to politics.

Jack questioned the wisdom of using a reality television show as a platform for launching his bid, but the world was a crazy place. Perhaps there were people out there dumb enough to confuse the personality they saw on their screens with the real thing. And, if the man could leave here with Miss Fisher on his arm, he’d have gained one hell of an asset, though he doubted Compton saw much past her looks.

“I have a bit more information to collect and people to speak with, but I assure you, Captain, I will conduct my investigation as efficiently as possible and I hope you will all make yourselves available to assist me in that.”

“Of course, Inspector! We will do everything we can to help, won’t we?” Phryne said, looking at each man in turn.

When her gaze settled back on him, Jack tried to convey his gratitude through a small smile. He needed cooperation from these people and her endorsement could only help.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I best get to work.”

He was admitted immediately into Victoria Quinn’s office. She seemed amped up, unable to sit still, but he was beginning to think this was her default setting.

“Inspector Robinson, you’re here. May I call you Jack? Good,” she said, without awaiting his reply. “Sit down. Can I get you a drink?”

She gestured to the bar cart. It was two o’clock in the afternoon.

“A glass of water will be fine, thank you.”

She tossed him a water bottle and perched herself on his side of the desk.

“I’ve had an incredible idea that will salvage the season,” she said, excitedly.

Jack didn’t give a fig about her show but he decided to listen politely. He was going to need this woman’s cooperation too.

“We’re going to incorporate Chad’s death, and the investigation of it, into the show.”

“What do you mean? Film the investigation? As part of your show?”

“Exactly! We’ll keep going with the dates,” she said as though that were a given, “our damsel still needs to select her knight but this whole murder thing is really going to add to the drama. Finding love amid tragedy.” She spread her hands dramatically, like a circus showman. “The specter of a murderer among us. It’s ratings gold."

“This is not a good idea,” he said. It was a horrendous idea. One of the worst he’d ever heard but he wasn’t too worried. The brass would never go for it.

“It’s a terrific idea. We’ve been bleeding money with this shut-down. The network loves it. You’re conveniently camera ready, so we’ve got that going for us. Thank god they didn’t send me an ogre. It will be great PR for the police. You look fit, are you fit?”

The woman spoke in rapid fire, non-sequiturs. She poked at his chest with her finger and then squeezed his bicep.

“I appreciate that you want to get the show up and running again,” Jack said, feeling a little like he’d just been run over by a freight train. “And there may be ways we can make that happen. Ways for me to work around a bit of filming here and there but I’m afraid I can’t allow the investigation to be part of it. That is out of the question.”

“I’m sorry. Were you under the impression I was asking your opinion?” Victoria said. She was laughing at him. “I’ve already gotten approval from your bosses. People at the highest level have signed off. This is happening.”

“What do you mean this is happening?”

“Are you deaf, Jack, or just obtuse? Goodness, this doesn’t bode well for this investigation, does it? Why don’t you go call your boss? I’m sure she’ll be happy to fill you in. Then get yourself over to wardrobe. They need to take your measurements.”

She turned back to her desk, sat down and picked up the phone, barking at someone on the other end to place a call for her. She glanced up at Jack with a look that asked why he was still sitting there.

Jack opened his mouth to argue but she held up a finger to silence him.

“Ronnie!” she cried happily into the phone. “Wait 'til you hear this. You are going to love me! I mean it. You will be kissing my ass into the next century!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some things spinning out of his control, Jack tries to take the investigation firmly in hand. Phryne receives some upsetting news that forces her to decide just how far she can trust Jack.

Jack had kept his cool long enough to get out of Victoria’s office but it had been a close thing.

Now, after finishing his call to the station, he briefly regretted living in the era of the mobile phone. He’d have very much liked the satisfaction of slamming a receiver down onto the cradle of one of those heavy, old Bakelite telephones.

Touching a spot on a screen with his finger didn’t cut it, no matter how hard he stabbed. And he needed his phone, so throwing it into the abyss would be ill advised.

The call to his boss had confirmed the horrible news, but at least she’d had the decency to be apologetic.

“It’s out of my hands and over my head, Jack. I’d have told you myself but I’ve only just heard. I’ve been expecting your call.”

“I don’t understand. How did this get approved?”

“Someone was able to convince the chief commissioner that it will be good press for the constabulary.”

“You’re joking? I can immediately think of ten ways this could go wrong and I’m sure I’ll come up with more if you give me a minute. But most importantly, it will jeopardize the case. I can’t run an investigation on television! Is this even legal? What about the suspects' rights?”

“It’s not live. Only the finale is live. They’re hoping to show small bits of your investigation during this show—as a teaser they called it— and then run a separate feature on it at a later date. They want to follow the case through to the end and they need to start filming right away so that, if it can all be worked out, they’ll have the whole story.

“If it can be worked out? So, it’s not a sure thing?”

“Nothing is set in stone. There are just as many people skeptical of this as excited about it. It raises a lot of issues.”

“So, it might all just go away,” Jack said, feeling a glimmer of hope.

“Not for you, I’m afraid. You are going to have to let them film you, but nothing will go to air without going through us first. We have veto power.”

“Am I included in this ‘we’ you speak of?”

“No. I meant the Victoria Constabulary and honestly, I’m not sure who exactly will be making these decisions. As I said, it’s over my head. I’m as unhappy about this as you are.”

“I doubt that, Margo. You’re not the one they’re planning to put on TV. I’ll never live this down.”

“You’re a respected officer and well liked. You’ll weather this. Laugh with them, Jack. And hardly anyone will even know about it—until it airs.”

“So this is really happening?”

“Just solve the case quickly and get it done with.”

“Do I get a larger team?”

“Uh, afraid not. They’re even more adamant about the secrecy thing. Sorry. But I can give you Collins exclusively.”

It was a small consolation. Jack scrubbed his hand over his face.

“If I have to do this, there has to be some ground rules. Can you at least help out with that?”

“I think so, within reason. They seem to want you on this pretty badly so you may have leverage. What do you need?”

He gave her his preliminary list of demands and, after hanging up, he debated marching back into Victoria’s office to give them to her as well but decided to let Margo get that ball rolling. He had an investigation to worry about and more incentive than ever to see it the rear view mirror.

Now that he had a window for time of death he needed to start collecting alibis and hopefully winnowing down his suspects. He decided to start with the male contestants.

“Jack! I heard we’re to start filming again.”

From the corner of his eye he saw her coming. The space was too open. There was no where to hide, no way to avoid her.

She was still dressed as she’d been by the pool but now had some sort of robe-like coverup over the bikini. It was sheer and floaty and fell to her ankles but, since it was open at the front, it did little to actually cover her up.

“Not even murder can be allowed to get in the way of you finding your true love, Miss Fisher,” he huffed.

“Well,” she sniffed, “judging from your sour mood, I guess the rest of it is true too.”

“What have you heard?”

“That they’re planning to make the murder investigation part of the show.”

“You heard correctly.”

“How is that going to work?”

“I have no idea.”

“I imagine you’re not happy about this.”

“Right again.”

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

“It isn’t your doing.”

“No, but if I hadn’t agreed to do the show in the first place Chad would probably still be alive and none of this would be happening.”

“This isn't on you. You’re not responsible for any of this,” he said, emphatically. He felt bad for having snapped at her.

“Have you already ruled me out as a suspect, Inspector?” She asked coyly, smiling at his quick defense of her.

It dawned on him then that he hadn’t been including her in the list he was making in his head. He would need to correct that, though she didn’t strike him as the spontaneously murderous type. Any murder she committed would be premeditated.

“Let me rephrase. It’s not your fault that I’ve been dragged into this. You’re culpability in Mr. Chestler’s death remains to be seen,” he said.

She looked oddly chuffed to be among his pool of suspects again.

“I told you Victoria would find a way to use Chad’s death for ratings and she managed to get her wish of having you on the show too! They are going to use you, aren’t they? Or, will they bring in someone else?”

“Apparently I’m camera ready,” he grumbled.

Her peal of laughter should have added to his annoyance but instead it was contagious.

“It’s really not funny.” But it was. It was ridiculous. “As if I don’t have enough on my plate! And, I’ve only ever been on television once. It wasn’t pretty,” he pouted.

“Poor Jack,” she said, laying a hand on his chest and stroking his lapel soothingly. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this. And dispense some justice while we’re at it.”

She stood very close and smelled of citrus and sunshine. Her head was tilted back to look up at him from under that absurd hat.

“We?” He said, his eyes straying to her red painted lips.

“Of course.” She stepped back and he had to catch himself as his body swayed after her. “My offer to help with the case still stands and has been amended to include lessons in surviving life on reality television.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you orchestrated this whole thing in order to satisfy your morbid curiosity about my investigation.”

“I wouldn’t put it past me, but alas, the idea was not mine. Wish it had been. It’s genius.”

“It’s scheming, callous and manipulative,” he said.

“Yes. Victoria is rather cold-hearted, but taking advantage of a tragedy like this? Genius,” she repeated. “She’ll still have the whole romance angle, and all its drama for her show, but now she’s got a who-done-it with a dishy detective on the case, as well.”

“A dishy detective? Do not ever say that again!”

“Why? Afraid it might stick?”

His expression must have been one of abject terror because she burst into a renewed bout of laughter. She really was enjoying this too much.

“Oh, get over it, Jack. We’re all just slabs of meat here,” she said.

“Well, this slab of meat has a real job to do. Thanks so much for the pep-talk,” he said, sarcastically. 

"Anytime."

“As long as we're here, I’d like to get your impressions on the men. The ones vying for your hand.”

“I wish you wouldn’t put it that way,” she said, screwing up her nose adorably, “it sounds so horribly patriarchal.”

“You’re referred to as the ‘damsel,’ they’re your ‘knights.’ How did you think that it sounded?”

“But, I’m the one in charge here—ostensibly, anyway. I’m the one doing the choosing.”

“If you say so. I don’t really care. Tell me about them. Particularly their relationships with the deceased.”

“Why would you trust what I tell you? I might be trying to steer you in the wrong direction.”

“You seem bent on convincing me that I should have you at the top of my list of suspects. Don’t worry. I’ll be asking the same questions of everyone but I’ve got to start somewhere and you’re right here.”

“Oh. So picking my brains is just about expediency?”

“What else would it be about?”

“Perhaps you recognize the value of my insight?” 

“If that will help make you more forthcoming, sure. I think you’re very insightful.”

“You know, you catch more flies with honey, Inspector,” she said, pursing her lips.

“I’m here to catch a murderer, Miss Fisher. Not to make friends.”

“No worries there,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.

“On second thought, maybe you’d like to change first?”

He was doing his best to keep his eyes above her neck but, damn, they’d really hit the jackpot when they got this woman for the show and he was only human, after all.

"Why?"

"Just thought you'd be more comfortable. I'm trying that honey thing you mentioned."

“Thanks anyway,” she said. “I’m perfectly comfortable.”

He let her lead the way. He’d just have to buck up and be a man about it. Besides, the view above the neck wasn’t exactly hard to look at either. _For christ’s sake, Robinson, grow up_. Regardless of what she’d said about her place here, he wasn’t going to treat her like a slab of meat.

“You must be sweltering in that suit,” she said. “You needn’t stand on ceremony on my account, Jack. At least take off the jacket.”

As much as he needed to maintain a professional demeanor, this heat might require some adjustments to his usual uniform. It was hotter here than in the city and a man sweating profusely did little to inspire confidence or authority. He shrugged off the suit coat and, when they’d reached a more secluded spot, a shaded gazebo on the edge of the set, he loosened his tie so he could open one button of his shirt.

She sat down on the stone bench, leaning back on her hands and crossing her legs. Her toes were painted red and one foot was bent up at the ankle, flexing her shapely calf.

He snapped his eyes back up to her face. She’d removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were bluer than he remembered them being last night.

“Where would you like to start?” She asked.

 _At the bottom, then work my way up,_ the traitorous part of his brain supplied. He shook the thought away.

“Let’s start with Captain Courageous,” he said.

“Captain Courageous?” she laughed. “You mean Lyle? Should you be expressing opinions about your suspects like that, Inspector?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. He wasn’t usually so flippant. Was it this woman that brought it out in him or this place? It all felt a little unreal.

“You gave him a bit of a dressing down this morning,” she said.

“I doubt it registered.”

“Sadly, that’s probably true. Lyle is somewhat self-absorbed. I don’t think anyone else’s opinion matters much to him.”

“And how did he get on with Mr. Chestler?”

“They weren’t friends but I’d never seen them fall out either. Lyle mentioned that he thought Chad was abusing steroids. He thought it could have factored into his death.”

Not unless they somehow took corporeal form and conked the man on the head.

“He told you he thought the man was using steroids? Why would he do that? Was he trying to sabotage him in your eyes?”

“I doubt Lyle saw a need for that. He’s fairly confident in his appeal. Besides, Chad was already dead when he told me. I _did_ notice that he used the present tense when speaking of Chad.”

“And you thought that significant?” He said, looking down at his notepad and trying to hide his smile.

“Well, yes. If he were the killer, he’d refer to Chad in the past tense, wouldn’t he?”

“You watch too many crime dramas, Miss Fisher. But, state of mind isn’t entirely irrelevant.”

He heard her soft harrumph of irritation and discovered he enjoyed irritating her. But, honestly, it wasn’t a bad insight on her part. Not exactly conclusive, but she had good instincts and was clearly observant.

“You said you’d never seen them fall out. Were there people Chad did fight with?”

“Would you like me to make you a list?” she said.

“That would be helpful,” he said, impatiently, “seeing as I’m trying to figure out who killed the man.”

“Sorry. I’ll dial back the sarcasm if you curb the condescension.”

“Deal.”

She told him that Warren was Chad’s only ally. Not a friend, exactly, but more a hanger-on.

“He was hoping Chad could use his influence in the entertainment industry to help him in his bid to become a star.”

“So, Warren’s motives for being here are not about you? He certainly looked attentive earlier.”

“He can’t afford to be eliminated. Especially not now that the coattails he was hoping to ride are gone. Warren’s not the only one here with ulterior motives. Everyone has their reasons.”

“I’ve noticed. The victim certainly wasn’t here for the show’s stated purpose. No offense, but I don’t think he liked you much.”

“None taken. And, the dislike was mutual. Chad, like Warren, wanted to be famous and acting the villain on a show like this can bring just such fame. Though it’s likely to be short lived.”

“So, he was just acting the villain?”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t an act. He was naturally repulsive.”

She ran down the list of Chad’s various pranks and aggressions, the way he seemed to revel in rubbing people the wrong way, and specifically mentioning how he picked on his roommate Arthur.

“He was a bully and the most juvenile man I think I’ve ever encountered but that stunt with Arthur wasn’t just juvenile. It was dangerous.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t an accident?”

“Absolutely not. Everyone knew about the allergies. Arthur had a separate refrigerator in their room for his food. Someone added clam juice to his soup and no one else had access. Thank goodness Arthur had the epi-pen handy. Even so, he had to spend a night in hospital.”

“Could the incident have made him angry enough to retaliate?” Jack thought it would be difficult to sneak back on set, but not impossible.

“Arthur? He would’t hurt a fly. Besides, he was already gone when Chad was killed. Unless he used a long acting poison—and I know Chad wasn’t poisoned.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Well I don’t, not for sure. But gossip spreads pretty quickly around here and the rumor is he had his skull smashed in.”

Jack’s eyes rolled back into his head and he clenched his jaw in frustration. He should have been prepared for this. The man had been found by a production assistant. He should’ve realized word would spread.

She was laughing at him. For at least the second time in their brief acquaintance.

“You were hoping to keep that detail quiet?” she asked. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” he said. “All right, so not Arthur, even though Chad tormented him. What about your yoga instructor, how did he get on with the victim?”

“Cato told me he avoided Chad as much as possible. There was definitely no love lost there.”

Jack thought that interesting. She wasn’t going to try to hide her lover’s dislike of the victim. Not that he had absolute proof they were lovers. All he’d actually seen was the footage of their grope in her room but he knew how to read body language and Cato’s all but announced their intimacy whenever he was near her. She was harder to read.

“But, for the record, Cato’s a pacifist. I think it would take a lot to provoke him to murder,” she said.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Did you happen to see any footage from Chad’s time in the gym yesterday?” She asked, her voice rising about an octave.

“I did,” he said.

“Then you’ve seen his fight with Reggie?”

“Yes.”

“I know that makes Reggie look bad, him throwing the first punch and all, but he couldn’t have killed Chad. He doesn’t have it in him. He’s a kindergarten teacher! He’s a pussy cat.”

“How do you know about the fight? It happened while you were in the middle of filming that yoga session.”

“We’re living in a fish bowl. Everyone knows everything.”

Her voice was still too high and something flashed on her face. A look that said she’d made a mistake. It was gone in an instant.

“What aren’t you telling me, Phryne?”

She stood up, meeting him eye to eye and looking at him intently as though trying to make up her mind about something. He didn’t push. He’d learned that silence was often the best way to get someone to talk. People didn’t like silence. They had a need to fill it.

“I was going to tell you eventually. Might as well be now,” she sighed.

“Inspector Robinson! There you are! I need to speak to you.”

A woman was hurrying toward them. That assistant producer he’d met yesterday.

“Can it wait, Miss—”

“Jones. Mallory Jones, call me Mal and I’m sorry, it can’t. You were expected in wardrobe half an hour ago. If we hope to be filming again tomorrow we have a ton to do and Victoria will have my head if it doesn’t get done.”

“I’m in the middle of interviewing a witness,” Jack argued, his temper rising, “and I don’t care what your boss wants, my investigation comes first.”

“Sure, but we want to get as much of it on film as possible, so it’d be best if you waited until tomorrow.”

“It’d be best if I waited? Let me make something clear. I do not work on your schedule and I don’t give a rat’s ass what you ‘get on film.’ A man is dead and I will conduct my investigation how and when I see fit.”

He felt Phryne’s hand on his arm, squeezing it in an attempt to calm him.

“Actually, if you don’t mind, Inspector, can we pick this up later?” She asked. “I’m starting to feel a chill and I’d like to go change my clothes. Why don’t you go with Mal and then stop by my rooms when she’s finished with you. I’ll answer the rest of your questions then.”

He got the impression that she wasn’t trying to avoid telling him whatever it was she'd been about to tell him. She just wanted a more private location for the discussion.

“All right,” he nodded. “You go on, Miss Fisher. I’ll be by as soon as I’m done with whatever this is.”

“It’ll only take a moment,” Mal promised. “They just need your measurements.”

“I have my own clothes,” Jack objected.

“Oh, I know. This is just in case you need something you didn’t bring with you. We just want to be prepared.”

“What could I possibly need that I didn’t bring? I’ve been dressing myself successfully for quite some time now.”

Phryne watched them head back toward the house, Jack griping the entire way, and then headed for her rooms feeling optimistic. The show was back on and her plans could proceed.

With the cameras in her room disabled she no longer had to hide in the bath to conduct her clandestine operations but she still kept the phone hidden there.

She dug it out, planning to give Dot a call, when she saw there was a text message from Mac. It had been sent an hour earlier. Two words only: _‘Call me’_

This couldn’t be good news. She sat down in the easy chair, where she wouldn’t be seen through the window, and placed the call.

“Brace yourself,” Mac answered, without preamble. She never was one to waste time.

“What’s wrong?” Phryne said, her heart in her mouth.

“It’s not a match.”

“That can’t be.”

“We knew it was a long shot. It doesn’t mean you’re wrong about him.”

“I know I’m not wrong! But what good does that do without physical evidence? Without proof?” Phryne snapped.

“Don’t shoot the messenger! This was always a possibility. There was no guarantee the DNA found on her was from her killer.”

And yet, she’d counted on it being from him. She’d gone though this whole charade, put her life on hold because she was sure it would be a match.

“Phryne? You still there, doll?”

“I’m here.”

“What will you do now? Will you stay on the show?”

“I don’t know, Mac.”

Phryne was stunned. Numbed by this disastrous turn of events.

“I spoke with Dot,” Mac said. “Is it true one of the contestants is dead?”

“It’s true. Too bad it was the wrong one.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I think I do. I’d rather see him ruined and in prison but if I can’t have that?”

“You don’t mean it,” Mac said again. “You’re better than that. Infinitely better. And you will get him, Phryne. You’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll have to,” she said.

“You will. But maybe you should come home. I don’t like you being so isolated out there and now someone is dead.”

“I’m not in any danger, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“How did the guy die, was it an accident? It hasn’t made the news and that seems odd.”

“He was murdered.”

“Bloody hell, Phryne! What is going on in that place?”

“I told you, I’m in no danger. The death is being investigated.”

“The police are there?”

“Just one. A detective named Jack Robinson,” Phryne said. “I’m thinking of letting him in on everything. I think he might be able to help.”

“You trust this guy?”

“I was just about to call Dot when I saw your message. I’ll have her do a little digging, but yes. I think I can trust him. And if we don’t have the DNA, I’m going to need some help, Mac.”

At this point, Phryne had really only been thinking about sharing information with Jack that would help him with his case. She wanted to give him access to the footage Bert and Cec had accumulated. She had a feeling he’d been given adulterated files.

She hadn’t been sure how she would do that without revealing her reasons for having collected it in the first place, but now, maybe she didn’t have to come up with a lie. She’d felt right away that he was someone she could trust. Maybe it was time to find out if her instincts were right.

“We’ve bent all kinds of laws here, Phryne. Are you sure you can trust this copper?”

Bent was putting it mildly. “I’ll keep you out of it,” Phryne said.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“I know, but I’m keeping you out all the same. You’ve risked enough.”

Phryne had obtained the DNA evidence from the police files in a less than legitimate manner. If Mac were found with it, her reputation would be irreparably harmed. It could mean the end of her career or worse. She’d taken a huge risk for something they knew was a long shot, regardless of how much Phryne had let herself count on it. And she hadn’t realized until this moment just how much she’d been counting on it.

“I’d do it again. I’ll do whatever you need,” Mac said.

“You’ve done enough. You’ve done more than enough.”

“I won’t have done enough until we have him behind bars. I loved her too, you know.”

“I do.”

Phryne had to end the call, because the tears were on their way and would not be stopped.

“I’ll be in touch. Thanks, Mac.”

She went into the bathroom to hide the phone again, sat down on the toilet, and let herself have a good cry.

Five minutes. That’s all she allowed herself. Good thing too, because just as she was rinsing her face with some cold water there was a knock at the door. She smoothed down her hair, took a deep breath and went to answer it.

“I hope you’re ready—Phryne? What’s wrong?”

He had stopped mid-sentence, his expression instantly changing to one of concern. Clearly her emotions still showed on her face.

“Come in, Jack.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack visits Phryne just after the setback to her investigation and she let’s him in on her secret. He learns why she’s on the show and they decide to work together to solve their respective cases.

“Janey Fisher. I should have put that together,” he said.

She wasn’t sure when he’d reached over and taken her hand, but it felt nice to be touched that way. In a manner intended only to comfort.

“It’s a common enough name,” she shrugged. “Are you familiar with her case?”

“A little. It was before my time. My boss was on the team and she hasn’t forgotten it. I’m surprised she didn’t tell me about your connection when this case came up.”

“She probably doesn’t know. I was traveling when it happened and didn’t hear right away—but that’s a story for another day,” she said, her regret about that still too palpable to share. “By the time I could get back the investigation was over. Not that there was much of one anyway, as far as I can tell.”

“Margo—my boss—always felt they gave up too quickly.”

“The consensus was that it was unfortunate but not a crime. That she’d simply gotten drunk and wandered away from the party and into the bush,” Phryne said, bitterly. “That might have been me at that age but not Janey. Janey rarely went to parties and she hardly drank at all.”

“What makes you so sure he’s the guy?

“Her friend saw him hanging around Janey all night. And she said Janey was stone cold sober one minute and falling down drunk the next. I would bet my life he drugged her drink then waited for his moment. Another witness thought he saw them leave together but that’s a bit shakier.”

“Did you take this information to the police?”

“Of course. They couldn’t have cared less. They said there was no evidence it was anything but a tragic accident and that reports of a guy seen hanging around a pretty girl didn’t merit reopening the case.”

“So you decided it was up to you.”

“Who else?”

“How on earth did you find him?”

“It wasn’t easy. All I had was a nickname and a description. But all the witnesses were clear on one thing, the guy had an American accent. Warren Renquist was an American college student in Melbourne at the time, and he was at that party.”

“That’s not actually definitive proof though, is it?” he said, gently.

She bit back the flare of anger. She’d heard it before and it wasn’t untrue. She had no real proof. That’s what this whole exercise had been about. But her gut had told her Warren was the guy and she'd been sure of it the moment she met him. The moment he’d taken her hand and raised it to his lips. And yet, after all her efforts, there was still nothing she could do with this surety.

“You’re right, it’s not definitive,” she said, defeated. “It’s not a match. I did all of this and it’s still not enough.”

“You came on this show just to get a DNA sample? Wasn’t there an easier way?”

“I had to stay close to him and make sure he stayed in the country long enough to get my proof and to get the police to pay attention to it. The only way I could see doing that was getting myself on the show to make sure he wasn’t eliminated too quickly.”

“Do I want to know how you got your hands on the DNA from your sister’s case file for comparison?”

“I’ve had a copy of the file for years—I have friends and, more importantly, I have money— but when I heard he was coming back to Melbourne I knew I needed the physical evidence.”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, “don’t say anything more. I don’t want to know how you got that.”

If she had any remaining doubt that she could trust him, it was disappearing fast and she gave his hand a squeeze. He looked down and blinked, seeming to have just noticed he was holding her hand. He let go and stood up abruptly.

She felt a sudden chill. What with Mac’s call and her crying jag she hadn’t had time to change out of her bikini. She grabbed an oversized jumper from where she’d tossed on the bed earlier and exchanged her flimsy cover-up for its warm embrace. She sat back down, pulling her knees up to her chest and watched him pace around the room, trying to read his reaction to her revelations.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “It can’t be just because I happened on you so soon after you’d received bad news.”

“Actually, that had a lot to do with it. I needed to talk to someone and for some reason, I trust you. I’m also hoping you might be able to help.”

He stopped pacing and turned to look at her. Really look at her. Like he was seeing into her soul.

“How sure are you that Warren Renquist was the bloke at the party?”

“I’m positive. It’s only a slight exaggeration to say I’ve got his every minute in Australia accounted for. I could show you my files.”

“How did you do it?”

“I had help but I’m not telling you who—”

“No. How do you sit with him? Smile at him?”

“You think I’m cold, don’t you? Calculating.”

“I think you’re determined. I think you’re strong. I don’t know if I could’ve done it.”

“He took my sister from me. I did what I had to,” she said.

“It’s been nearly ten years, right?”

“Nine years, four months and eight days.”

“And how long was Renquist in Australia? That first time.”

“He was here for about eight months on a study abroad experience. Why?”

“There was at least one other similar case around the same time period as your sister’s case,” he said.

“Another missing girl that was found dead?”

“Yes. And an incident of sexual assault. That victim survived but couldn’t remember much about the attack. Margo thought there might be a connection. Friends of all three victims reported a sudden onset of impairment consistent with having been drugged. It never sat right with Margo but she was only a constable then, and no one took her seriously.”

“You and your boss seem to have discussed this at length,” she said.

“You could say that,” he said, laughing softly. “It still sticks in her craw. They said she was grasping at straws. Trying to make out she’d uncovered some serial offender in order to make a name for herself. There are still too many people on the force that take issue with women in our ranks, especially an ambitious one.”

“And yet, she’s now your superior so I guess they didn’t stop her.”

“And we’re better for it. She’s a hell of a cop.”

He clearly thought very highly of her. Phryne envied the woman.

“Is there any way you could get the information you’ve gathered to me? I’d like to compare the dates Renquist was in the Melbourne area with those other cases,” he said.

“You think you can tie him to more victims?” She was nearly crawling out of her skin with excitement at the prospect.

“It’s a long shot, but I’d like to look into it. If I find something, I can take it to Margo.”

“Oh, Jack! You don’t know how much I appreciate this!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Phryne. It might come to nothing and I do have another case on my hands. And limited resources,” he said.

“That’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you. I can help you with your murder case,” she said.

“I told you, I can’t accept your help.”

“Right, because I’m a witness and suspect. But it’s the suspect part that’s the real sticking point, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but if you were to have to testify, the witness part is important too.”

“Well, let’s take them one at a time. What if I could show you video evidence that I was in my room, asleep, when Chad was killed?"

“I told you, that part of the CCTV footage is missing. There’s nothing from your room after you...” he cleared his throat, looking down at his feet, “said goodbye to your earlier guest.”

“You mean Cato? You don’t need to mince words on my account, Jack. I’m not ashamed,” she said, laughing at his discomfort.

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No worries,” she waved it off, “Your copy of the footage might end with Cato’s exit. I’m fairly sure mine doesn’t.”

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ she decided. She told him everything. How she’d found out Warren was coming back to Australia to participate in this crazy reality show and decided to get herself cast as the damsel. The first step had been to get the woman originally cast to back out.

That hadn’t proved too difficult. While the original damsel would’ve been happy if she’d found the love of her life as a result of being on the show, her main objective had been to draw attention to her business. She was a jewelry and fashion accessory designer. Quite a good one, as it turned out.

Phryne ‘discovered’ her and started wearing her designs to major events while recruiting some celebrity friends to do the same. She also called in favors at a few fashion publications.

Suddenly the woman’s name and her creations were showing up on the pages of the best magazines, being hyped on fashion blogs, and had big name celebrities gushing about them on social media platforms.

The young woman didn’t want to lose this new momentum by locking herself away in the castle for two months but she was already under contract and the show was not about to release her. As her new friend and benefactor, Phryne stepped in to help.

Phryne was a known entity on the social scene and a minor celebrity in her own right. On top of that, the network head’s wife was on the board of the charity Phryne had founded. She was well positioned to convince all concerned that she was the perfect replacement.

Well, maybe not all concerned. Victoria had grumbled about have a new damsel dictated to her. Then, after their first meeting, when it had become clear they would butt heads, she’d tried to get Phryne tossed. After that, Phryne had learned to pick her battles. Still, the longer she’d been here, the further she’d pushed, until Victoria had sent her little message with Chad.

“You think Victoria sent him to your rooms?”

“Yes. I think she sent him here to put me in my place. To show me who is really in charge here. Though I doubt he was supposed to take things as far as he did.”

“Exactly how far did he take it?” Jack asked, “if you don’t mind telling me.”

“He forced a kiss on me. Maybe I’m giving her too much credit but I doubt Victoria gave him orders to get physical. He was just supposed to scare me.”

“But, if he wanted to remain on the show, why would he agree to it? Wouldn’t he be afraid you would cut him?”

“I think he believed Victoria could and would protect him. Even if I tried to eliminate him, she could come up with a way to keep him in place. Find a reason to bring him back. It’s her show.”

“Were you afraid of him?”

“The encounter shook me more than I originally thought. I don’t doubt he was capable of violence.”

“You realize you’ve just given me even more reason for you to have wanted him gone?”

“Yes, but as I mentioned, I have an alibi.”

“The CCTV footage you’ve illegal obtained?”

“Are you going to be a stickler about that illegal part?”

“It sort of comes with the badge.”

“Well, lucky for you, I, personally, didn’t illegally obtain anything.”

“But you know who did.”

“Do I? Perhaps the footage was sent to me anonymously. Perhaps a package showed up at my offices and my assistant was astonished to find out what it contained.”

“Okay,” he said, dubiously, “I suppose there’s nothing illegal in receiving an anonymous package.”

“Right! And, perhaps, if she were to seek my I advice, I might suggest she get in touch with the police? But, not just _any_ police.”

There it was, that sly tilt of his head and accompanying smirk as he caught up with her. She felt a thrill of excitement.

“I believe my sergeant is the man for her,” he said, “although Hugh won’t be happy. I don’t have much of a team and, with me stuck here, he already has enough on his plate without additional footage to sift through.”

“Well, mine is bound to better than the altered footage Victoria gave you. And Dot can help. She’s highly capable. If your resources are so very limited, the extra manpower can only be welcome.”

“Or, woman-power, as the case may be?”

“Even better,” she replied.

They exchanged information and made their separate calls. Jack’s call was brief. Hugh mercifully didn’t ask too many questions of his boss. Phryne’s call to Dot lasted a few minutes longer.

“Dot will call Sergeant Collins immediately,” she said, once she’d finished. “She confirmed for me that the encounter with Chad was caught on film but, interestingly enough, she can find no footage from Chad’s room that afternoon or evening.”

Jack didn’t seem to understand the significance of what she was saying.

"Collins already told me there was no helpful footage from the victim's room."

“Don’t you see? The footage of Chad in _my_ rooms was deleted from what you were given, but the footage from _his_ room doesn’t exist at all. That means the camera in his room was turned off sometime before he was murdered. Who else but the murderer would have done that?”

“And, only certain members of the crew have access to those controls,” Jacks said, catching on. “This will limit our pool of suspects.”

“ _Our_ pool of suspects?" she said, fluttering her lashes. He rolled his eyes and she got back on task. "I suppose it’s possible someone unauthorized might have gained access but that strikes me as unlikely. The control room is rarely empty. An unauthorized person would not have gone unnoticed. And, they’d have to know what they were doing to find the right controls to switch off.”

“But, this makes the murder look more premeditated. The nature of the man’s death struck me as a spontaneous act,” he said.

“How so?”

“It was the death blow, mainly. Not to get too graphic, but it had an element of violence I associated with extreme anger. The weapon hasn’t been found but I was assuming it was something from the room. Something opportunistically acquired.”

“But it’s possible the killer brought it with them.”

“Yes. I’m having photos made of the room from before and after to see if I can identify it.”

“You should have your sergeant shows those to Dot. She has an amazing eye for detail.”

“You seem to have some interesting people at your beck and call, Miss Fisher. Some pretty skilled hackers, for example,” he said.

“I don’t have hackers, Inspector. I have IT consultants and they’re life savers. I’m not very tech savvy.”

“Mmm, hmm. You also know scientists capable of DNA analysis?” 

“She’s a doctor, actually.”

“and now, apparently, an expert forensic investigator.”

“Dot is my reliable right hand. I have friends, Inspector. What of it?” She shrugged.

“Friends willing to risk quite a lot for you.”

“I’d do the same for them.”

“I can’t figure you out,” he said, peering at her in that way he had that, contradictory to his words, made her feel like he saw all of her secrets.

“In your line of work I’d imagine you enjoy a puzzle,” she said.

She took a step closer. In part to distract him from his examination of her but mostly because she couldn’t seem to help herself. To her thrill, he didn’t move away and even seemed to draw nearer, though she knew he hadn’t taken a step.

He wasn’t that much taller but she still had to tilt her head up slightly to look at him. He had an amazing face. It was handsome—in an almost too perfect way, like chiseled from marble—but it was what he did with it that made it interesting.

A slight twitch of those full lips or the quirk of an eyebrow seemed to alter his features entirely. Then there was the way his eyes flashed with intelligence, curiosity and, if she wasn’t mistaken, occasionally lust.

If you watched carefully you could almost see the rapid workings of his mind. Like a duck gliding on a pond, all serenity and quiet countenance belying the steady paddling beneath the surface. He could be a dangerous man, easy to underestimate, and she pitied the criminals that came face to face with him.

As if to illustrate what she was thinking, she saw his mouth curve into that small, half smile. When she met his eyes she saw a flash of humor at her blatant flirting  and, most definitely, an underlying current of lust.

A charge filled the air and her heart began pounding in her chest. His breath seemed to be coming faster.

A knock at her door broke the spell but neither of them were too quick to move apart.

“It’s open,” she called, still holding eye contact with Jack.

“I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

Cato’s opening remark seemed to fade into bewilderment as he took in the scene. Phryne turned her head to him and smiled. Jack stepped back from her and angled his body squarely to the new arrival. He didn’t appear flustered or try to explain his presence. In fact, he didn’t say a word and his silence seemed to unnerve Cato.

“I, um, meant to come by sooner,” he stammered, “is this a bad time?”

“Inspector Robinson had some questions for me,” Phryne said.

“In her room?” Cato said, finally addressing Jack with newly found bluster, “that hardly seems appropriate, Inspector.”

“I asked him here,” Phryne bristled.

“Thank you, Miss Fisher. I believe I have what I need, for now,” Jack said.

The other man might as well been invisible for how completely Jack ignored him, although Phryne thought she saw his lips twist briefly before his expression returned to its natural, enigmatic state.

She almost laughed out loud. Victoria probably thought she had quite the addition to her show with this gorgeous looking man but unless there was someone behind the camera that knew how to shoot him, up close and personal, he would probably come off as overly serious, arrogant and horribly dull.

“Are you sure, Inspector?” She asked. She was sorry to see him go.

“Yes. I may have more questions later, but I have others I should speak to now.”

“Of course,” she said.

“and calls to make,” he added pointedly, to remind her that he hadn’t forgotten his promise to look into Janey’s case

She smiled at him in gratitude. He gave her a small nod and turned to Cato, acknowledging him for the first time.

“I’ll need to speak with you at some time as well, Mr...”

“Cato. Just Cato.”

“All right,” Jack said, with a wry tilt of his head that had Phryne biting back another urge to laugh.

“I’ll see you to the door,” she said.

“I’ll let you know what I find out,” he said, quietly.

“Thank you. Goodnight, Inspector.”

She shut the door and stood lost in thought until she felt Cato’s arms go around her from behind. She turned, letting him pull her into an embrace.

“Are you all right? I wanted to come last night but everyone was so disturbed by Chad’s death, I couldn’t get away without someone noticing.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said. She hadn’t really given a thought to Cato, or to any of the other men. She’d had other things on her mind, other priorities.

“What was that copper doing here?”

“He's investigating Chad’s death,” she said, as though it should be obvious.

“Seems odd that he’d ask his questions here, in your room.”

She pushed away from him. “That was at my request, as I’ve already said. It was strictly business but, in case this is unclear, I'm free to invite whomever I like to my rooms.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “you’re right. I’m just on edge, we all are.  I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Good,” she ran her hand over his chest. “Because I can think of much better ways to spend the time. Did you know all the cameras are still off?” She asked, with a coy smile.

He bent and gripped her around her thighs, lifting her in a fireman’s carry and taking her into the next room where he threw her, laughing, onto the bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne wakes early and goes in search of Jack. Others begin to take notice.

Phryne was up early the next morning. Shockingly early for her. It looked like the sun had only recently risen when she peeked out her window.

She hadn’t slept well despite some rather enthusiastic stress relief. She’d been glad to have the distraction but, quite soon after, had found herself wanting to be alone again. She'd told Cato that spending the night was not a good idea. There were too many prying eyes but mostly, she explained, she simply preferred to sleep alone. He'd taken it well enough.

Of all the contestants she was most herself with Cato. He was sweet and easy going. He didn’t ask too many questions or expect too much of her. She’d been able to be mostly honest in her intentions but there was still so much she was hiding. It was mentally exhausting keeping up this facade.

She hadn’t realized the toll it was taking until she’d found herself spilling to Jack. There were things she was still concealing, even from him, but that freedom to talk about Janey and why she was here, about her challenges and disappointments, had only brought into sharp relief how isolated she’d become in this place.

After Cato left she’d called Mac. She knew her friend had been skeptical of her plan to involve the detective and she wanted to let her know it had gone well, better even, than she’d hoped.

Mac was supportive but told her she was getting ahead of herself, as Phryne had known she would. Mac always was the more pragmatic of them but, if Jack was right about those other cases, it was possible that definitive proof of Warren’s involvement might yet be found. That thought alone had been enough to keep her tossing and turning all night. As the morning light began drifting through the crack in the curtains she’d decided to give up on any further hope of sleep.

She dressed quickly in whatever she could lay her hands on, ran a brush through her hair and headed outside thinking the fresh air would revive her and help her face the day ahead.

Evidence that filming was about to resume was all around. She wondered if Jack was awake and nervous about the prospect of appearing on camera. Like her, he was good at putting up a facade, and she was sure he'd be able to manage whatever they threw at him, but he'd given her a glimpse behind his curtain and she knew he was uncomfortable with the whole enterprise.

She thought maybe she should find him and give him a little pep talk. It would also give her a chance to discover if he’d been able to learn anything more about those other cases he’d mentioned.

She spotted Clara, one of the sound techs, bustling across the courtyard and hurried over to her.

“Good morning, Clara. Good to see you back!”

“It’s good to be back! Well, I mean it’s terrible what happened to Chad but, between you and me, I need the paycheck.”

“I understand completely,” Phryne said. “Clara, you don’t happen to know where they’ve set that Inspector up, do you? Does he have rooms, or perhaps an office, somewhere?”

“Victoria put him in one of the suites on the second floor. It’s in the hallway right above yours but, if you’re looking for him now, I don’t think he’s there.”

“Oh?”

“I saw him about an hour ago, heading off into the hills on his bike. Haven’t seen him return.”

“He has a motorbike here?”

“No. A push-bike. Avid cyclist too, from the look of it. Did you need to talk to him?”

“No. Not really. I was just curious as to how the investigation is coming along. It’s all just so shocking, you know?”

“Yes. I’m surprised we’re up and running again so quickly but I guess life goes on. Speaking of which, I’m scheduled to get you wired just after you’re done in make-up.”

“Yes. I found the schedule by my door this morning. See you then.”

She turned her steps toward the gazebo. Jack would have to pass this way on his return and, if she was lucky, she might be able to catch a minute alone with him. She sat down on the stone bench with her back to the set.

The rolling hills were rather lovely in the early morning light and there was a warm breeze coming over them. For a moment she could pretend nothing was going on behind her and that she was simply here on holiday.

Before long she spotted him. She stepped to the doorway of the gazebo to draw his attention and he turned in her direction.

The nearer he drew the more evident it became that Clara was right. He must indeed be a very avid cyclist and he had the thighs to prove it. No weekend warrior would look that good in those ridiculously tight, lycra bicycling shorts and equally fitted jersey.

His shoes, and his well defined calves, where splattered with mud. When he pulled up in front of her and removed the helmet his hair was matted down with perspiration. He had what looked like a damp towel looped around his neck and tucked down into the front of his jersey. He pulled it off and ran it over his face and head, causing his unruly curls to leap up defiantly from his scalp.

“Looking good, Inspector,” she said, and immediately wanted to kick herself for having said something so inane.

He pulled his earbuds free.

“What was that?”

“You’re up early,” she replied.

“It’s too hot if I get started much past dawn these days. Did you catch the sunrise, Miss Fisher? It was rather spectacular.”

“Afraid not. It’s been awhile since I’ve risen before the sun. I sometimes catch it coming up as I’m heading to bed though,” she said.

“That sounds more like it. I hadn’t pegged you for a early riser.”

“Why is that?”

“I guess I formed that impression the other night, when I found you wandering the castle at wee hours.”

“I believe I found you. And what am I to conclude by the fact that you were up equally late then, and before the dawn now?”

“I don’t sleep much when I’m working a case,” he confessed. “What’s your excuse?”

“The same, I suppose,” she said. “Speaking of which, any news?”

“Not much,” he said. “I have my sergeant pulling the files on those cases I mentioned. I plan to meet with him later today. He tells me your Miss Williams was very helpful. In addition to the information on my murder case, she’s given him your research on our American friend so we can cross reference it with our files.”

“Oh, good! Do you think you can tie him to those other cases?”

“I won’t know until I’ve had a chance to see the files.”

“Of course. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

She couldn’t think of anything else to say but she didn’t want him to leave yet. Luckily, he didn’t seem in a hurry to rush off.

“I think my sergeant might be a little taken with your assistant,” he said, conversationally.

“Is that so? What did he say?”

She smiled and leaned in closer to better hear him.

* * *

Mal was making the rounds. Double checking that everything was in order to resume filming. The cameras were setting up for the first event, a gathering to mourn Chad, or at least gossip about his untimely death if no one felt like mourning.

She hoped to be able to convince the inspector to make an appearance. Victoria had it in her head that he should address the group. She even wanted to outfit him in a long trench coat. The kind associated with detectives in crime novels and old movies. She said the audience would eat it up.

Mal thought Victoria was overly optimistic about Robinson’s cooperation. He wasn’t here to be on television and seemed less than enthusiastic about the prospect. And he wasn’t like their knights. Mal had been recruiting men for this program for the last five seasons. She could spot the right type from a hundred paces. Robinson was not the right type.

Her walkie-talkie crackled and Victoria’s voice barked out.

“Mal, where are you? Are you seeing this?”

“I’m in the courtyard. Seeing what?”

“On the hill. By the gazebo. Isn’t that our damsel and Inspector Robinson?”

Mal spun around.

“Well, what is happening there?” she said, gleefully. She snapped her fingers at the nearest camera. “Get a lens on that. As tight as you can, but don’t let them know they’re being filmed.”

“Are they mic’d up?” Victoria asked.

“No. But I've got a camera on them now.”

“Good. I knew this guy would make things interesting. Take a look at that body!”

“I’m looking at it,” Mal peered over the cameraman’s shoulder. “It’s even better through the zoom lens.”

“I’ve got binoculars,” Victoria said. “Make sure to get a close up of her face. She looks like she wants to eat him alive. Not that I blame her.”

“They don’t seem too familiar with the concept of personal space, do they?”

“She really can’t help herself, can she? Has to work her charm on anything breathing.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind.”

“I may not like that woman much, but I will admit there are times when she makes my job easy. Listen, let's scrap that trench coat idea. The less that man wears the better. I’m thinking poolside. I’m thinking budgie smugglers.”

"You want him to talk about a murder investigation in bathers?" Mal said, incredulously.

"Of course not! That would be stupid. Get him in the pool later!"

Mal felt her head begin to pound. Robinson was already proving less than cooperative. How the hell was she supposed to talk him into teeny tiny bathers? Plus, the other knights were not going to like this new interloper one bit. She dug a bottle of aspirin from her pocket and swallowed one dry.

“Stay with them until they part ways,” she told the cameraman.

She spotted an intern nearby with a tray off coffees. She made a beeline for him to snag a cup before they could all be claimed and watched Phryne and Jack Robinson having their tête-à-tête as she sipped. The way they bent their heads together looked too intimate for two people that had only just met. Then Robinson said something that made Phryne throw her head back and laugh.

Mal had seen Phryne laugh before. She laughed often, but there was something about this laugh that was different. Phryne’s body language, and the way she grabbed hold of his arm as if to steady herself, lacked her usual, coy flirtation. The laugh was open and friendly and Mal, once again, got the sense these two were more than passing acquaintances.

She wasn’t sure what surprised her more, their apparent intimacy, that laugh, or the idea that Robinson might have a sense of humour. She may not have been sure of what she was witnessing, but Mal knew it had interesting implications.

Finally, the couple turned and started back on the path to the house. When they reached the patio, Mal went to intercept them.

“Inspector,” she called, “can I have a minute?”

Phryne peeled away then, with a wave. Jack slowed so Mal could catch up, but didn’t stop walking.

“I was just wondering if you had any questions about today,” she said. He moved quickly, taking long, even strides despite the bicycle he was pulling along at his side.

“Questions? About what, Miss Jones?” he asked.

“Call me Mal. Your shooting schedule? You should have found it outside your door this morning.”

“Ah, that,” he said. “Yes, I did see it, and must confess to being confused by it.”

“No worries. This is all new to you, it’s bound to be a bit overwhelming, but I’m here to help. What did you find confusing?”

“It’s existence,” he said, stopping short and turning to her.

“I’m sorry?” The look he was giving her would freeze molten steel.

“Now, I know your boss is aware of this, because my boss has assured me she is, but in case word hasn’t trickled down—I will not be operating on your schedule. In fact, quite the opposite.”

“We just thought...”

His hand shot up like a stop sign to silence her.

“I will conduct my investigation as I see fit. You are allowed to film me doing so, but that is where your privileges end. If I need to speak to someone—and this goes all the way up the food chain, right to your boss and beyond—I will speak to them. When and where I please. I don’t care what they are supposed to be doing at that moment or where they are, they will be made available to me. That was the deal to get your show up and running again. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Inspector.”

“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that sorted, Mal,” he said, with a mocking emphasis on her name.

He turned to walk away. He was a smug bastard, to be sure, but she’d dealt with worse and a part of her relished the idea of watching him go toe to toe with Victoria. She’d have to remember to take notes.

“Just one question, Inspector. Or, more a favor, really,” she said.

For a moment he looked surprised by her cheek and then he smiled. A real, honest to goodness smile and what it did to his face was startling. He looked impressed, but something else too, something it took a moment to put her finger on. He looked amiable.

“Tell me what you need and I’ll let you know if it’s possible,” he said.

She felt she’d gained an inch and decided now was not the time to take a mile. Victoria wanted many things but Mal decided to start with one she stood a chance at getting.

“Victoria wants a dramatic entrance for you,” she said.

“How dramatic?”

“Nothing over-the-top. We’re gathering the damsel and her knights this morning to give them the opportunity to discuss recent events,” she said. “We’d like you to address the group.”

“To what purpose?”

“Just to announce the investigation and tell them you’ll need to speak with them. That kind of thing.”

“They already know all that.”

“Yes, but, the audience doesn’t.”

“So you want a made-for-tv, ‘ _a man has been murdered, you’re all suspects, don’t leave town,_ ’ moment?”

“Exactly. We can write something up for you, if you’d like, but that’s the general idea. Will you do it?”

“I don’t think so. I realize you have a job to do, but so do I and mine matters. This is a real investigation. A man is actually dead. I don’t have time for nonsense.”

“I get it, I really do. You think all of this is frivolous and you’re not wrong. But you will be a part of it, that much is already decided. If you want any control over your narrative you might want to pick your battles more carefully.”

“My narrative?”

“The way you’re portrayed on the show. Video can be edited. Moments and phrases plucked from hours of footage to paint a picture of someone and tell the story we want to tell, regardless of the reality.”

“But, nothing goes to air without approval,” he said.

“True, but not your approval, isn’t that right? You’re not the one that will decide?”

“You have a strange way of asking for a favor. This is all starting to sound vaguely threatening,” he said.

“Not at all. I’m on your side, Jack. I can help you,” she said. “Victoria always manages to get what she wants and she wants a lot. If you throw her a bone once in awhile it will be easier for me to keep her off your back.”

“So, just this one scene? I go in and tell everyone about the investigation and that’s it?”

“Two minutes, tops. And just so you know you can trust me, I’ve already talked her out of putting you in a trench and fedora. I convinced her that had a far too 1920’s hard-boiled detective vibe. Though, you’d rock a fedora,” she said.

“Threats, bribery and now flattery? You’ll try anything won’t you?”

“Whatever works.”

“Fine. I’ll do the one scene. But it has to happen soon, I need to meet with my sergeant today.”

“You’re not leaving the set, are you?”

“Seeing as my sergeant is not here, yes, I am.”

“Then I’m going to need to free up a camera to go with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“We need to film everything.”

“You can film my interviews and I will, on occasion— like this morning—play along with this farce, but I will not have you dogging my every step. I can’t work that way.”

“Victoria is not going to like this.”

Mal knew Victoria was already upset by the mandate that the inspector’s quarters be camera and microphone free. She’d made it clear she wanted every other moment of the man’s day covered.

“People have to stop telling me that as though it’s something I care about,” he said. “Would she prefer I upend her first day back by insisting on conducting interviews this morning? From what I saw of the schedule, before tossing it in the bin, it looks fairly full.”

“Point taken. We’ve already missed a day’s shooting, we can’t afford any more.”

“I will have to disrupt things going forward but I’m not a complete bastard. I thought you might appreciate my staying out of the way today.”

“I get it,” Mal said, “I just hope I can spin it for Vic.”

“Again. Not my problem,” he said, his frustration growing “Why is it so hard to get you people to understand that this is a real murder investigation!”

“I know it’s real and important,” she said, trying to appease him. She didn’t want him to get so fed up he backed out on filming today. “You’ve got a job to do, and you don’t really want to be here. But you are here and helping to make the best of it is my job. Unfortunately, answering to Victoria is also part of my job.”

“I’m not trying to make your life harder.”

“You’re not making it easier,” she laughed. “Let me help you help me. I can run interference for you with Vic.”

“In return for what?”

“A little cooperation. Get me just enough footage to keep Victoria happy and both our lives will be easier. If you do the scene this morning, I’ll take the heat when she learns you’ve left the set on your own.”

“I am going to come and go and I’m not going to waste time worrying about ‘spin.’ Your boss will just have to get used to it.”

“Yes, but can we ease her in slowly? I’ll worry about the spin if you’ll just try not to make her head explode on a daily basis.”

He threw up his hands in frustration.

“Let’s just get through the day. We’ll shoot the scene and you’ll be free to go, no questions asked. All right?” She cajoled.

“All right,” he said, finally capitulating.

“Can you get yourself to make-up in half an hour?”

“Make-up? Why do I need make-up?”

“We film in high definition. Trust me, you want make-up. Is everything going to be an argument with you?”

She dug out another aspirin—the one from earlier wasn’t doing the job—and silently cursed Chad Chestler. He’d been a horrible person in life and was clearly intent on continuing to make trouble after death.


	9. Chapter 9

Jack held himself still as the girl, Clara, tucked the tiny microphone behind his lapel.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, smoothing the line of his suit coat.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked.

“The nerves? Yes,” she laughed, “but everyone has ‘em their first time.”

“Only the first time?” he said, giving her a smile. He knew she was trying to ease his mind, which was sweet, but ineffective. “Never, in a million years, did I see myself doing this. I just want it over with.”

“They’re setting up for you now. It will all be over before you know it.”

“Does everyone wear one of these?” he asked.

“No. Phryne is almost always mic’d during filming but with the men it kind of depends on the scene and the setting. Usually a boom is enough. Victoria wanted you on your own wireless because we’re outdoors and it’s a little breezy today. You’ve got some important lines and we don’t want to miss them.”

They’d actually written up lines for him. Mal thought it would be helpful. He began reciting them in his head for the thousandth time.

This was all too reminiscent of his final year in high school when he’d gone out for the play. There’d been this beautiful girl. Head of the drama club. An injury was keeping him off the football pitch and she’d mentioned they needed help with the show. He saw it as an opportunity to get to know her better.

The audition had been so abysmal they’d relegated him to painting the set but he did get the girl, for a while anyway. His crippling stage fright had been a long running joke between them.

“Did you ever have to work with Chad?” he asked Clara.

“A few times.”

“Was he friendly—with the crew?”

She was very pretty, this Clara, and young. And the way her smile had faded as soon as he’d mentioned Chad struck Jack as significant.

“I don’t know about that,” she said, a bitterness in her voice she couldn’t seem to hide. “I suppose he could be friendly when he wanted to be or, more accurately, when he wanted something from you.”

“Did he want something from you?” he asked, gently.

“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “No more than anyone else. He was always expecting special treatment, like being the first to have his equipment removed, stuff like that. He seemed to think his charm was irresistible.”

“From what I’ve learned, he didn’t seem very charming.”

“Yeah, well, like I said—when he wanted to be. Looks like Mal’s on her way to collect you. Good luck,” Clara said, hurrying away.

“Thank you,” he called after her.

There was more to this, he was sure, but it would have to wait until he could conduct a formal interview. He made a mental note to ask Phryne if she’d ever witnessed anything pass between Clara and Chad.

“Well, superstar! Are you ready for your close-up?” Mal teased.

“You’re not helping,” he replied.

* * *

 

Phryne watched Jack struggle through three takes before Mal called for a five minute break and took him aside. He looked agitated and his head drooped in shame. Mal grabbed hold of his lapel, gently tugging him closer and speaking quietly to him until he looked up and gave her a sheepish grin. He did that head tilt thing and Phryne had to swallow down a lump in her throat. She got up to stretch her legs and moved close enough to overhear them.

“Just say it the way it’s written but try to sound less like you’re reciting lines,” Mal said.

“But I am reciting lines,” he argued.

“And that’s the problem,” Phryne said. Their heads swiveled in her direction as she inserted herself into the conversation.

“What’s the problem?” Jack asked.

“The lines.They don’t sound like you. Who wrote them?”

“Mal thought they’d make it easier for me. This sort of thing doesn’t come naturally,” Jack said.

“They’ve made you too combative. Too insensitive.” Phryne said.

“But he needs to look tough,” Mal replied. Her hand was absently rubbing along Jack’s back.

“You’ve made him look like a bully. That’s not his style,” Phryne said, her tone growing increasingly argumentative.

“He needs to assert his authority. Make people a little afraid of him,” Mal said, defiantly, her attention now laser focused on Phryne. Phryne met her gaze with equal resolve.

“He commands authority quietly, not through intimidation! You’re usually better at reading people than this, Mal,” Phryne said, derisively.

Mal drew her lips together thinly, her eyes narrowing. “All right,” she said, slowly. “You seem to think you have his measure. How would you have him do it?”

“Would you two mind not talking about me as though I’m not standing here?” Jack barked. “I knew this would be a disaster.”

“It’s not a disaster! You just needed some time to warm up! You can do this!” Mal enthused, trying to rally his spirits.

“No. Miss Fisher’s right. I look ridiculous.”

“I didn’t say you were ridiculous,” Phryne said, softening her tone. “You’re just need to stop letting them put words into your mouth. Just speak as you normally would.”

“But, this isn’t normal. I don’t generally walk into a room and start lecturing like that.” He waved his arm violently toward the set.

“Then don’t do it now,” Phryne said.

She knew what Mal, or more likely, Victoria, was going for. They wanted him to look like a brutish copper. An egomaniac that was more interested in establishing his dominance than getting to the truth.

From the curious way Mal was now watching her, she also knew that they were filming this interaction and would spin the footage to their advantage, but she there wasn’t much she could do about that right now.

“Is this your first murder investigation?” She asked Jack.

“Of course it’s not.”

“How do you usually go about breaking news of an unsettling nature like this?”

“Well, revealing that someone has been murdered is shocking enough for the friends and loved ones of the victim. I’d never immediately come at them with an assumption of guilt.”

“You’re not actually accusing anyone,” Mal argued. “We were very careful of that when writing your lines.”

“The implication is clear,” Jack said.

“You need witness cooperation, don’t you? It wouldn’t really serve your interests to immediately offend,” Phryne said.

“Actually, that depends on who I’m dealing with,” he said, smiling slyly. “But, with this large a group I’d want to be able to observe reactions to the news before I start frightening people into putting defenses up.”

“So, in this instance, breaking the news more sensitively would be more useful than coming in guns blazing?” Phryne said.

“I suppose so, but I’m not telling anyone anything they don’t already know so I’m not going to get a true reaction. This isn’t real, it’s just for show,” Jack said.

“Show or not, you’re using your own name, you should use your own words too. At least give it a try.”

“It can’t possibly be any worse, I suppose. Would that be all right?” he asked Mal.

“Of course! Whatever you need. Don’t worry, we’re going to make you look great,” she said.

Phryne noticed that she was rubbing his arm again. The woman couldn’t seem to stop touching him. Now she’d positioned herself in front of him, her back to Phryne, and was straightening his already perfectly positioned tie.

“I’ll take some of the focus off of you and we can add dramatic music post-production. I’m sure we’ll have enough to cut something together in the end,” she cooed, soothingly.

Finally, Mal left to reposition the cameras, shouting for everyone to prepare to go again, and with a nod of her head, Phryne beckoned Jack to follow her back to their marks.

“I knew I’d make a cock-up of this,” Jack said.

Phryne covered her mic with her hand and gestured for him to do the same.

“She’s manipulating you, Jack,” she hissed.

“She’s trying to help,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s got a job to do, too.”

“Yes, she does and she’s taking advantage of your inexperience. They’re trying to create a fictional Jack Robinson in the image they want for you and he’s an arrogant prick. She’s got you thinking of this as a role your playing.”

He blinked at her and she was relieved to see the lightbulb going off behind his eyes.

“Shit! You’re right,” he said, looking horrified. “How did I let her do that?”

“She’s very good at her job. I told you, neither she nor Victoria can be trusted.”

“How bad did I look?”

“Not to put more pressure on, but just make this take so good they’ll throw out the earlier stuff,” Phryne said.

“That bad?”

“Forget everyone else. Talk to me. Be the guy I met in that hallway. He was stern, but polite, and just smug enough to come off as a slightly less arrogant prick than their version.”

“Well, when encountering a vainglorious busy-body used to getting her own way, it’s best to establish who wears the pants, Miss Fisher,” he quipped, dryly.

“There! That’s the guy I remember! Be him,” she crowed.

* * *

 

Once Jack had taken Phryne’s advice and gotten out of his own way, the scene had gone better. He wouldn’t go so far as to say it went well, but he got through it and within half an hour he was on his way to meet Sergeant Collins.

He didn’t get the chance to thank Phryne for her help. Her filming day was just beginning as he left the set. He’d also not been able to speak to Clara Whiting again. Another crew member had removed his microphone and he wondered if she was avoiding him.

He was meeting Collins at a diner halfway between the station and the set. On the ride he gave some thought to his interactions with Mal and could see now that everything she’d done had been calculated to get him to trust her. She’d positioned herself as an ally, using Victoria as a mutual foe. She’d convinced him that she was just trying to make the best of this bad situation for them both. It was a technique he was familiar with and he should have recognized it. He would have to be more careful of her going forward.

Jack reached the diner to find that his sergeant had already arrived—and he wasn’t alone.

Hugh Collins sat in a booth beside a young woman, their heads were bent together over a bunch of enlarged photographs spread on the tabletop.

Collins was dressed in his civvies, as instructed. Even with the precaution of meeting miles from the set Jack had worried the uniform might draw unwanted attention. The filming location was not a secret and there was always the chance paparazzi were hanging the area. Jack had made sure there was no one following as he’d driven away, but better safe than sorry.

He approached the booth and stood at the end of the table for a moment before Collins noticed him.

“Inspector Robinson! Sir!”

Hugh snapped to attention and tried to stand but, as he jumped up, his thighs collided with the tabletop, and he awkwardly dropped back onto the bench seat.

“Stay seated, Collins,” Jack said, before the young man could try again and injure himself. “And you should probably just call me Jack while were here.” He extended his hand to the young woman at Hugh’s side. “You must be Dorothy Williams.”

The girl looked up at him with a bright smile and shook his hand firmly. Her sandy blond hair fell in waves around cherubic cheeks and her warm, brown eyes sparkled with an open eagerness that gave an impression of wonderment and curiosity.

“Please, call me Dot,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind my being here, Inspector. I’m afraid I rather bullied Hugh into letting me come.”

She was a slip of a thing but somehow Jack had no problem believing she could easily bend his burly sergeant to her will.

“Dot’s been through more of the footage then I’ve had time for,” Hugh explained. “I thought her insight might be helpful. And she’s assisting me with the photos from our victim’s room. Trying to locate a possible murder weapon.”

“Any luck yet,” Jack asked, sliding onto the bench opposite.

“Not yet. I just picked up the stills this morning. I had a set made for you too.”

“Good. Should we order?”

Jack hadn’t had anything to eat since that piece of toast he’d managed to grab before being whisked off to make-up and he was starving. He waved over the server without awaiting an answer from his companions.

“What’s good here?” He asked, not bothering with a menu.

“We’re known for our burgers,” the weary woman said unenthusiastically.

“I’ll have a burger, then. Extra pickles. And a slice of whatever that pie on the counter is,” Jack said.

Hugh order a burger as well. Dot settled for just the pie and requested another pot of tea.

“How is Phryne?” She asked.

“She’s well, I think,” Jack said.

“We’re all so worried about her! All alone in that place.”

“She seems quite capable of taking care of herself.”

“She is. But she’s had such a disappointment recently. It means a lot to her that you’re looking into her sister’s case.”

“Speaking of that. I’ve brought the files you asked for,” Hugh said, sliding them across the table. “Are you sure you don’t want my help with them?”

“I am. You’ll need to concentrate on our murder investigation. As will I,” he said. He was concerned that he might have set Phryne’s expectations too high with regard to her sister’s case. “I hope I can provide some answers for Miss Fisher too, but I can’t make any promises, and this murder has to be my priority.”

“Of course,” Dot said.

“Speaking of that. I found a previous connection between our victim and one of the crew members on _Happy Ever After_ ,” Hugh said, flipping through his notes. “Have you met a Clara Whiting yet?”

“Just today,” Jack said.

“Well, she’s listed as an intern on a movie that Chestler was an associate producer on from a few years back. I don’t know if their paths would have crossed but thought it worth mentioning.”

Jack filed that information away for later. An earlier, perhaps adverse, encounter could explain Clara’s reaction to his mention of Chad this morning, but the thought that she might be involved in the man’s death was not a happy one. Upon first impression he’d liked her.

“Anything else?” He asked.

“Dot noticed something in the footage,” Hugh said, “Go ahead, Dottie. Tell him,” he encouraged her.

His suspicions that his sergeant was smitten now confirmed, Jack hid a smile and gave the young woman his full attention.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell Phryne this,” Dot began, apparently feeling guilty to be sharing this information with someone other than her boss, “but she wants me to work with you, so I guess it’s okay. You know how the footage in Chad’s room from the afternoon of his death is missing?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I found indications that it may have happened before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t be sure, but it looks like the cameras in his room were turned off more than that one time. There appear to be gaps in the footage.”

“How many gaps?”

“I’ve only had time to go back a few weeks but I’ve already found three or four possible instances.”

“How can you tell?”

“Like I said, I can’t really be sure, but there were a few times I noticed a sudden change in the lighting in the room that didn’t make sense. So I compared the hours of footage from the other knight’s rooms, to the hours of footage from Chad’s room. There are several days when the footage from his rooms is anywhere from forty minutes, to two hours, shorter than from other rooms.

“The cameras are always supposed to be on, isn’t that right?” Jack asked.

“Yes. The ones in the common areas are motion sensitive but the ones in the room film as long as there is enough light. Overnight, when it’s dark in the room, you can sometimes make out shadows, but that’s about it.”

“Is there a way to tell when the cameras in his room were not working?”

“Not precisely. Working back, I can make a good guess at the days and I suppose someone smarter than me might be able to estimate the time by the level of ambient light and shadows. That’s how I noticed the gaps in the first place. There’s footage of him in his room and then, suddenly, he’s still there, but in a different position and it’s a lot darker, like maybe the sun has set. I looked for a clock but there doesn’t seem to be one within range of the cameras.”

“Miss Fisher wasn’t exaggerating when she said you had a good eye for detail. I’m impressed,” Jack said.

He wasn’t sure who looked prouder, Miss Williams or his sergeant. Hugh was gazing at the girl as if she hung the moon. She turned and beamed a smile at him and it was clear that the admiration flowed both ways.

It might not be the best time for his sergeant to be distracted by the early enchantment of a love affair, but Dot Williams seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, and Jack had a feeling her addition to the team would turn out to be more asset than obstacle. Besides, they were kind of cute together and Jack couldn't find it in his heart to object.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone in the castle has their own agenda. Victoria and Mal have a show to produce, Jack has a murder to solve and Phryne wants justice for her sister but is finding herself increasingly invested in Jack's investigation as well.

“It’s not great.”

They’d watched Jack’s final take four times now and Victoria wasn’t thrilled, but to Mal’s relief, she wasn’t angry either. She was in a good mood, now that filming had resumed, and even her outburst upon learning that the detective had left the set without a cameraman had been short-lived.

“He’s not terrible,” Mal said, pausing the tape.

“But, who is he? Is he a bad cop or a good cop? He doesn’t inspire any emotional response.”

“Maybe he doesn’t jump out at you right away but he has a sort of quiet authority, don’t you think?” Mal said, echoing Phryne’s words from this morning.

“A quiet authority?” Victoria mocked. “You know our audience better than that. They don’t want nuance. They want to be spoon-fed, told who to love or hate or pity. No one comes here looking for complicated character development.”

“I’m sure he’ll improve,” Mal said. Though she doubted it. After this morning she feared that Inspector Robinson was only going to prove increasingly difficult to manage. His focus would not be easily distracted from the investigation.

“All right,” Victoria said, switching into producer mode. “We can only work with what we’ve got. At least he’s easy on the eyes, and our damsel seems to agree, so let’s brainstorm ways to get that into play. We need to set him up as a rival for our remaining knights. Where are we on my idea to get him in the pool?”

Mal shook her head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. He’s really not interested in engaging with the group. He said we can follow him as he works, but this morning was a one-off, just to help us set up his presence here.”

“Follow him while he works? Are you joking now? If I wanted to make documentaries I wouldn’t be doing this show.”

“But, I thought you wanted to make a separate feature about the murder investigation.”

“How long have you known me? They were going to shut us down indefinitely. I pitched the idea to get us going again. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the investigation but as long as he’s here, we might as well use him to create some tension.”

“Chad’s death didn’t create enough tension for you?” Mal said, growing irritated.

“Not if we can’t use it,” Victoria said, “Which is what would have happened if I hadn’t got the network on board. Now that I have, we've got this to work with—” she waved her hand at Jack’s image frozen on the monitor, his expression unreadable, “this boring block of marble.”

“It’s the best we could get from him. Maybe we could make him out as sort of mysterious? Someone it takes an effort to unravel,” Mal suggested.

“What did I just say? You're expecting a level of engagement our demographic is not interested in. What’s the matter with you today? You’re off your game,” Victoria said.

“I’m sorry if I’m disappointing you. Chad is dead, Vic. It’s not just a storyline. The man is really dead!” Mal snapped.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t much of a man to begin with and he was probably going to be eliminated next anyway.”

“For fuck’s sake! Is the show really all that matters to you?”

“Take it easy! It was a joke! But I built this show and I’m not going to let some idiot that finally pissed off one too many people destroy it,” Victoria said. “You’re not going to have another one of your attacks of conscious right now, are you? Because it’s really not a good time for that.” She put her hand on Mal’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I need you, Mal.”

Mal fretted. At times she was appalled by the things she did for this show, the way she used and manipulated people. But there was also a sort of ‘high’ she got from it. A visceral thrill and a sense of power and, sooner than it should, any shame she felt was pushed aside by a desire to feel that way again.

Victoria had recognized this in Mal early on and nurtured it to her benefit. She saw Mal as her protege, and an odd cross between daughter and best friend. They were like minds, in many ways, but Victoria had long ago lost the scruples that continued to plague Mal.

Part of Mal longed to get out from under Victoria’s thumb, but a larger part still craved the older woman’s praise—almost as much as she craved the high she got from successfully executing a plan.

Mal rewound the tape, watching Jack’s scene one more time with a critical eye.

“He’s not like the guys that come on this show,” she said. “He doesn’t have the same self-interests.”

“But everyone wants something. Find out what it is that he wants and use it. It’s what you do best.”

“He wants to solve the case and get the hell out of here,” Mal said.

“Then help him do it! The sooner he’s gone the sooner we can get back to normal operations.”

Mal pursed her lips, thinking.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe that’s thinking too small. There might be a way to get the tension you want and then some.”

“I’m listening.”

 

* * *

 

Jack cued up the footage and checked his watch. He’d purposely saved this interview for last for no reason other than his own pleasure. It was petty, but he’d been at this for the entire afternoon and most of the evening as well. Later he’d be stuck in his rooms scouring pictures and reading case files until his eyes bled. He was in a foul mood and decided to take his fun where he could get it.

The assistant Victoria had assigned to help him knocked on the door and stuck her head in. His previous interview had left several minutes ago and she was probably wondering what he was waiting for.

“Inspector Robinson? Are you ready for the next person?”

“Give me two more minutes and then send him in.”

“Sure thing.”

“You can go after that. Thanks for your help.”

He could hear the complaints through the door and felt a bit sorry for the assistant. His next appointment wasn’t someone that was used to being kept waiting but Jack, rather perversely, was enjoying having this little bit of power. It wouldn’t last. There was a solid alibi so he wasn't likely to solve the case with this conversation. Still, no interview was a complete waste of time. There was always something to be learned. 

While he let Lyle Compton cool his heels in the hallway, he went over the previous interview in his head. He’d given Clara every chance to come clean but she’d stuck to her deception until he’d completely unraveled her lies.

He’d made a few calls and spoken to other crew members from that movie Hugh had mentioned. The rumors of an affair between Clara and Chad were widespread. She’d finally admitted it and it was clear she still held on to some anger.

To make matters worse, her alibi was worthless. Jack really didn’t want to believe she had anything to do with the murder, but he couldn’t rule her out as a suspect.

The was another quick knock and the door swung open to admit Compton. His chest was puffed out and he had a put-upon expression on his face.

“I’ve been waiting in that hallway for nearly an hour,” he complained.

“Take a seat, Captain. Can I get you a glass of water?” Jack asked, politely.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Compton grumbled, sitting down opposite Jack.

“All right. What was your relationship with the victim?”

“I had no relationship with him. We were acquainted, of course, but I can’t recall a single conversation of substance I had with the man.”

“Really? This one seems memorable.”

Jack spun the monitor around to face the man. Frozen on the screen was an image of Chestler smirking nastily at an incensed Compton. Jack pushed play and watched Compton closely as the scene played out.

 

  

> _“Malicious rumors don’t frighten me,” Compton’s said, straightening to his full height._
> 
> _“You paid her to keep quiet. Once word of that gets out, the affair will be more than just a rumor," Chestler replied._
> 
>  

“This is ridiculous,” Compton blustered, talking over the video. Jack hit mute but let the argument, clearly elevating, play out silently on the screen.

“He said he could derail your campaign,” Jack said, “over a supposed affair with a young starlet.”

Jack used the term loosely, the only film the woman was famous for was a sex tape she’d managed to parlay into a bit of fame.

“The voting public doesn’t care about that sort of thing anymore,” Compton said.

“You seemed to think otherwise a few days ago,” Jack said, glancing at the screen and turning up the sound again.

 

  

> _“You little pissant. Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?” Compton bellowed._
> 
> _“A tired, old man desperately trying to hang on to some semblance of relevancy? You’re pathetic, mate. I don’t know how you made it this far but it doesn’t matter. Once I tell Phryne about your indiscretions, you're gone. And if I tell her while we're on the air, your hopes for elected office are over too.”_
> 
> _Compton grabbed hold of Chestler shirt front hauling him up short and getting in his face._
> 
> _“You’re playing with fire. I’d watch my step if I were you," he growled._

 

Jack stopped the video.

“What did you mean by that?” He asked.

“Nothing.”

“It sounded remarkably like a threat.”

“He was an irritating man. I let him get under my skin and lost my temper for a moment. I walked away, cooled off and didn’t give it a second thought. He couldn’t do me any real harm. I had no reason to want him dead”

“You deny the affair?”

“I neither confirm nor deny it. It’s immaterial to your investigation."

“If you don’t mind, I’ll decide what is, and is not, immaterial to my case. What about his claim of proof that you paid the woman involved to keep quiet?”

“He claimed a lot of things. I have a sterling reputation and plenty of resources at my disposal, including some very talented lawyers. I’m sure you heard the part of the tape where I told him that I don’t take kindly to defamation, Inspector. That’s something you should remember as well.”

“And you'd be wise to remember who you're talking to, Captain. Threatening a police office is not recommended.”

“It wasn’t a threat. It was a kindly meant warning.”

“I see. Well, here’s a ‘kindly meant warning’ from me. I will follow every lead wherever it takes me and I will not be intimidated. This is not the military. You are not in charge and I do not answer to you.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Compton harrumphed. “And mine. I have an alibi. I was in my room when Chestler died, as my insufferable roommate will attest. Talk to him! Or, talk to that school teacher! He had a heated argument with Chad on the day of his death.”

“I’ll be talking to everyone,” Jack said. “Right now, I’m talking to you. Let’s go over your movements on the day of the murder. Starting immediately after the outing on the boat.”

Compton sighed loudly to express his displeasure but begrudgingly recounted his day until the time he’d returned to his room.

“Your roommate is Warren Renquist?”

“Correct.”

“Was he already in the room when you returned to it?”

“Yes. He made his presence known. He was in a sour mood.”

“Any reason why?"

“Apparently he and Chad had had some sort of falling out.”

“We’re they friends?”

“I don’t know about that. Warren followed Chad around like a puppy. He is under the delusion he could be a star and had hopes that by kissing up to Chad he might find a way to achieve his dream. He thought Chestler had some pull in the industry.”

“You don’t think he did?”

“I think Chad was an empty suit. He talked a big game, but apart from his family money, he had little to offer. Neither was he inclined to help anyone but himself.”

“Did you express this opinion to your roommate?”

“Why bother? It’s not like I care that the man was wasting his time. I think he was beginning to catch on though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Like I said, they had a falling out and Warren was complaining more than usual.”

“What was he complaining about?”

“Specifically? I’ve no idea. I was hardly listening. I retreated to the shower to get away from him.”

 _Interesting_ , Jack thought. Maybe this mutual alibi wasn’t as solid as he had thought.

“How long were you in the shower? Long enough for Renquist to have slipped out without your knowledge?”

“I’m a military man, Inspector,” Compton said, proudly. “I was in an out of the bath in under five minutes. Barely long enough for most men to take a piss.”

That was too bad. It would’ve certainly made Phryne happy to tie Renquist to yet another crime, but it was a long shot. It looked like his alibi would hold. Besides, Jack didn’t think Renquist would have had access to the control room.

Then again, if the cameras in Chestler’s rooms were routinely being shut off for some as yet unknown reason, as Miss Williams suspected, perhaps it was just serendipity that they were out at the time of the murder. For the murderer, anyway.

“Are we done here?” Compton complained, impatient with Jack’s distracted inner musings.

“Just a few more questions,” Jack said, returning his thoughts to the interview at hand.

 

* * *

 

Phryne didn’t get a chance to speak to Jack again after he’d filmed his scene. By the time she got a break in her schedule he had gone. She knew he was back at the castle now, because she’d heard that he was conducting interviews with the cast and crew. They’d outfitted one of the empty bedrooms down the hall from his suite to be a pseudo-interrogation room and people were being called in one-by-one, in no apparent order.

He hadn’t called for her yet and, as evening turned to night, she decided she must not be on his list for the day. That was disappointing. She’d really been hoping for another chance to speak to him. Now that the show was in full swing again it was becoming increasingly clear that finding time alone to discuss Janey’s case was going to be difficult.

She was loitering to watch people coming and going from their interviews and had been able to speak to a few of them. They all said the same thing. Jack had asked about their interactions with Chad and for an accounting of their whereabouts on the day of his death. Pretty standard stuff as far as Phryne could tell but it still had people on edge. The entire atmosphere in the castle was very much changed. People were wary. Suspicious even.

Phryne ran into Clara just after the young woman had left the interview room. She looked quite shaken and when Phryne asked her if she was all right, Clara burst into tears.

“Come with me,” Phryne said. Leading her away from prying eyes and, more importantly, out of range of the nearest cameras.

They found a spot outside under a tree and Phryne waited while the distraught young woman composed herself.

“What’s happened, Clara?” Phryne asked.

“That detective thinks I killed Chad,” Clara whispered, her red-rimmed eyes wide and anguished.

“Did he say that?”

“No, but he asked me so many questions! What I was doing that day and who I’d seen. And then he asked me if I’d ever met Chad before this show and he caught me in a lie.

“You knew Chad from before?”

“Yes. It was over three years ago. I was an intern working on my first job and he was an associate producer. I told Robinson that I’d never worked with him and that wasn’t really a lie. Chad hung around the set a lot but he didn’t do any real work!”

“Oh, Clara. Even I can see through that subterfuge,” Phryne chided. “I imagine the inspector did as well?”

“Yes.”

“So, how well did you know Chad? Was it more than a passing acquaintance?”

“I was so stupid!” Clara cried. “I thought he liked me. I was little more than a gopher on that film. I was nobody, but he noticed me. He was really sweet and so good looking! You know how gorgeous he was!”

“Yes. He was a very attractive man. On the outside,” Phryne said.

“Right,” Clara said, bitterly.

“Let me guess—it was wonderful. Until it wasn’t.”

“Turned out he had an on again, off again thing with one of the stand-ins on the film. I didn’t know that when we started. When she decided they were on again, he no longer knew my name.”

“I’m sorry, Clara.”

“It was worse than just a broken love affair. I could have taken that. But the other woman found out about us and started telling everyone that I’d seduced Chad in the hopes he’d get me cast in his next film. It wasn’t true. I never asked him for anything. I don’t even want to be an actress! But he did nothing to correct the rumors.”

“Did you eventually tell the inspector all of this?”

“Yes. I had to. He just kept pushing until it all came out.”

“What did he say then?”

“Not much. He just thanked me and said I could go for now. But I could tell he was unhappy that I’d lied.”

“That doesn’t mean he thinks you’re a killer.”

“He was so stern. And I don’t really have an alibi for when Chad was killed. There was only the one-on-one happening that afternoon and I was taking advantage of the downtime by stealing a kip in the equipment van.”

The poor child was scared to death and Phryne felt a surge of anger. How could Jack be so harsh? He couldn’t possibly believe Clara capable of murder!

“The inspector has a job to do but don’t let him frighten you. Just tell the truth. If you’ve done nothing wrong then you have nothing to hide.”

“I didn’t kill him, Phryne.”

“I don’t think, for a moment, that you did!”

She spoke to Clara for a few minutes more, helping to reassure and calm her, and then she stalked the hallway outside the interview room, her anger building with each moment. When Jack finally emerged, she pounced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on my way to Miss Fisher Con 2018 this week so this will be the only chapter I'll have time to post until next week. Thank you to everyone reading along and for the kudos and comments!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we last saw Phryne she was ready to pounce on Jack, but probably not in the way many might like.
> 
> After an acrimonious start they share another nightcap and make an interesting discovery unrelated to the case..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience while I took a break from this story for my trip to Portland and the Miss Fisher Con. I had a fantastic time and am now hoping to resume a more regular posting schedule

 

* * *

 “You can’t possibly suspect that poor girl of murder!”

“Don’t say another word,” Jack warned. “I can’t discuss the case with you.” He looked like a man on his last nerve.

 “You’ve terrified poor Clara!” Phryne said, undeterred, “she’s thinks she’s about to be arrested.”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed.

He glanced around furiously and then took hold of her upper arm, steering her down the hall, and pushing her into what she presumed was his suite. He shut the door behind them.

“You can’t go saying things like that out loud!” He scolded.

He was right. She didn’t think there were cameras on this floor, since it hadn’t been in use until he came along, but she couldn’t be sure of that. The last thing Clara needed was another rumor spreading about her. Still, right or wrong, Phryne bristled at his reprimand.

“Well you shouldn’t be frightening innocent young women!”

“How do you know she’s innocent? She has no real alibi. And she has motive.”

“What motive? A woman scorned? Give me a break, Jack.”

“It’s as real as any other. And it was a bit more than thwarted love, Phryne. She was humiliated and felt the incident had damaged her career. She hated the man.”

“Everyone hated the man. You might as well lock us all up!”

“But she had access to the equipment and knows how to use it.”

“She’s only a sound tech.”

“The point is, she’s a member of the crew, however lowly. And, she has a film degree from the AFTRS, by the way. I’ve spoken to her professors and some former coworkers. They regard her highly.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“She’s clearly bright and apparently very talented as well. She is being underutilized on this show.”

“You like her,” Phryne said. The admiration in his voice was unmistakable.

“I do. But I can’t ignore the facts. And I can’t help wondering why she’s wasting her talent here.”

“You think she has ulterior motives for being here?”

“She wouldn’t be the only one,” he said, significantly.

“She’s not that conniving.”

The look on his face said he was fighting the urge to make some smart remark about someone else’s conniving nature but he let the moment pass.

“She had a past relationship with the victim that ended with bad blood, and she hid it,” he said.

“She was under no obligation to disclose her personal life!”

“I agree with you, up to the point where the man in question turned up dead.”

“Jack, be reasonable,” she said, though so far he’d been eminently so, “you said the crime was violent. Do you really see Clara doing that? Besides, the affair was more than three years ago! That’s a long time to hold on to that level of rage.”

“Maybe he did something to bring it all up again for her.Or, maybe she hoped to renew the affair and he rejected her again.”

“She would never go back to him.”

“It’s a thin line between love and hate. I have to pursue every lead. Regardless of my, or anyone else's, feelings.”

“She didn’t do it,” Phryne said, but her surety was faltering under the logic of his arguments.

“You don’t know that, not for certain,” he said, “but, for your piece of mind, I am nowhere near arresting her. I don’t think she did it either.”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” She cried, throwing her hands up in aggravation.

He shrugged and crossed the room to grab a bottle of whiskey from a tray, holding it up on offer.

“It’s not as good as what you gave me,” he said, by way of invitation.

“It’ll do,” she said, her anger deflating. She accepted the glass he poured for her. “Long day?”

“Very,” he said.

He remained standing but leaned wearily against the large stone mantel that surrounded the room’s fireplace. The space was nearly identical in layout to her rooms but the decor was different.

Her’s was all done up in pale blues and golds with damask upholstered Bergère chairs and a queen sized antique-replica sleigh bed. The elaborately carved crown molding at the ceiling was gilded to match the delicate gold and crystal chandelier.

Jack’s room had a distinctly medieval feel to it with a wood coffered ceiling and large wrought iron wall sconces setting the tone. Rich reds and deep blues dominated the decor and one wall was completely finished in faux stone. She took a seat on the overstuffed sofa and pulled her feet up under her.

“Any other suspects emerging?” She asked.

He tilted his head at her in warning. “What did I say about not discussing the case?”

“You keep saying we can’t, and yet, we do,” she said.

He opened his mouth to argue then shut it again with a sigh, conceding her point.

“And, on that note, you seem focused on the gaps in camera footage,” she said.

“Well, yes,” he said. “That seems significant. Do you disagree?”

“No, but I’m not sure it limits your suspect pool in the way you might hope.”

“Meaning?” He said, his tone apprehensive.

“All that camera footage I’ve shared with you?” she began, hesitantly, “you have thought about how I obtained it, haven’t you?”

“Shit.” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as the implications dawned on him.

“If I’ve found a way to gain control of those cameras, so might have someone else,” she said, giving voice to his fears.

“You do realize this puts you in the frame again too, don’t you? For all I know it was you, or whoever is working for you, that was stopping the cameras in Chad’s room.”

“It wasn’t me. I was only interested in capturing footage for later use, if needed, and I haven’t needed it yet. I never stopped the cameras—nor asked anyone else to. Not in my rooms, or any of the others.”

“I have only your word for that,” he said.

“And that’s not enough,” she said.

He gave her a small confirming nod and angled his head to one side as if in apology.

“Tell me who is helping you,” he said.

“I can’t give you names.”

“Phryne, I’m not interested in the hacking. That’s not my department.”

“But you can’t ignore it either.”

“Says who? Solving the murder is my priority. Besides, you’ve already trusted me with the footage you’ve stolen. I could’ve put a team on finding your source immediately but I didn’t.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I didn’t need it to solve my case. I do now. I can talk to your source, or go to the department’s team to look into the hacking. If I go the official route, what happens next will be out of my hands.”

She steepled her fingers in front of her face, thinking. She was inclined to trust him with this but it wasn’t really her call.

“Phryne,” he said, earnestly, “it may also be my only way to clear you once and for all.”

“Let me talk to my source. If they agree, I’ll have them contact you. Is that good enough?”

“For now.”

“You’ll hold off on trying to find them?”

“For now,” he said, again. “But I can’t wait long.”

“Give me ‘til tomorrow,” she said. He nodded his agreement.

An awkward silence fell. She thought perhaps she should leave but felt rooted to her seat, unwilling, or unable, to end their conversation at a point so fraught with tension.

“Your scene went well in the end,” she said, in an attempt to change the subject. It wasn’t entirely true. He’d still been rather stiff but it was better than the earlier tries.

“That feels like years ago. When will it air?” He asked, accepting the shift in the conversational direction.

“Friday night.”

 “Do you think they’ll use my scene?”

“I imagine so. Part of it anyway. Most of the episode seems to be about the aftermath of Chad’s death and you’re a integral part of that storyline.”

“God help me,” he said, taking a swig of his drink. “I really don’t know how you do this.”

“I keep my eye on the goal and take it one day at a time,” she said. “I hear you were able to leave the set for awhile today?”

“Yes. I had to meet with my sergeant. He had your Miss Williams along. Impressive young woman.”

“Isn’t she? Has she been helpful to the case?” 

“Mmm,” he murmured, giving no further information. No worries. Dot would tell her all.

“She’s concerned for you. She asked me to look after you,” he said, raising his eyebrows as if the request was absurd.

“Dot’s a bit of a mother hen. What did you tell her?”

“That you can look after yourself.”

“Good answer, Inspector.”

“I picked up the files on those other cases I mentioned. The ones connected to your sister. I haven’t had time to go over them yet but I’ll try to get to them later tonight.”

“May I see them?”

“That’s not a good idea. I’m already pushing the limit by obtaining them without permission. If I find anything to tie them to Renquist, I’ll take it to Margo and she should be able to convince the cold case division to give them a second look.”

“Cold case? That will take forever! I trusted _you_ with this information. I want _you_ to investigate.”

“I’ll do what I can, but there’s a protocol.”

“Hang protocol! Where has that ever gotten me? If you hand this over to anyone else the wheels will grind to a halt and Renquist will leave the country before they’ve even cracked opened the files!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even know if there’s anything there yet. I promise I’ll look at it tonight and, if I find enough to get Margo interested, she’ll get the ball rolling.”

“You have an awful lot of faith in this boss of yours. I hope she deserves it,” Phryne said, realizing then that, for whatever reason, she’d put an awful lot faith in him despite not knowing him very well.

“I trust Margo,” Jack said, “and I’ll do my best to stay on top of it too, but my priority has to be Chestler’s murder. I can’t afford to split my focus. I’m already short-handed.”

“Then let me help you!”

“We’ve been through this already. What is it you think you could do to help, anyway?”

She resented his dismissive tone.

“The same things you’re doing! I could ask questions. Look for clues.Do you think me incapable?”

“Of course not, but you’re a civilian,” he said, as if that should be the end of the argument.

“You accept Dot’s help,” She pointed out.

“I probably shouldn’t have,” he said, “but Dot is not here.”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“It’s got everything to do with it! The murderer is here, Phryne! I can’t have you poking around asking questions. You’ll put yourself in danger.”

“You just said that I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, but there’s handling yourself in this viper’s nest and then there’s getting in the crosshairs of a violent murderer. That is not happening on my watch,” he said adamantly. 

“You’re worried about me,” she said, breaking into a smile. As misguided as it was, she couldn’t help but feel a little pleased by his concern.

“I’m worried about a lot of things.”

He met her eye briefly, then looked down at his hands, his cheeks flushing faintly.

“Be careful, Jack. You wouldn’t want to appear to be playing favorites.”

She stood up and prowled toward him, watching his eyes go wide with fear. He rallied quickly, steadying his expression and holding her gaze as they came toe to toe. She couldn’t help thinking he might be good at this game and that thought was a happy one.

“I’m not playing favorites, Miss Fisher. I’m just trying to avoid adding your murder to my already full workload.”

“Is that all?

“What else could there be?”

His eyes dropped to her lips and she couldn’t stop her tongue from darting out to wet them. When he raised his eyes to hers again, his pupils nearly obliterated the gray-blue of his iris. The tension in the air now felt quite different from before.

“I can’t imagine,” she said, letting her own gaze drop to his mouth. How had she not noticed how sensuous it was?

She’d appreciated the way his lips had a habit of thinning out into a stern slash when he was displeased, or curling up into a half grin that was either cheeky, or decadently wicked, depending on the circumstance—but she hadn’t before noticed how kissable they were.

The air between them crackled and she lifted her head, swaying close but stopping just short and waiting to see if he would make a move. Her invitation was clear enough, yet he stood fast, touching her with nothing by his eyes. They’d reached a stalemate.

She bit her bottom lip, sucking in a frustrated breath. He was going to be a hard nut to crack but she was up to the challenge.

“Well, then,” she sighed, “I guess I’ll leave you to your work. I probably shouldn’t be here anyway.” She raked her eyes over him from head to toe one last time for good measure, “after this morning we shouldn’t be caught together too often. We’d be playing right into their hands.”

That had the desired effect of making him move first. He stepped back, looking startled.

“What? Why?”

“Didn’t you notice the look on Mal’s face this morning? When I came to your aid?” She asked innocently. “She looked like the cat that got the cream for a minute there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s always on the lookout for the romantic angle.”

“Romance?” he asked, alarmed.

“It’s what the show is all about, Jack.”

“But, between us? That’s insane! I’m not a contestant. I’m not here for _you_.”

“Should I be insulted by how emphatically you stated that?” She said, amused.

“I didn’t mean—obviously you’re a very attractive woman,” he stammered.

“Stop, Jack. You’re making it worse,” she laughed. “Look, it doesn’t really matter why you’re here. Very little that goes to air has anything to do with reality, despite the moniker. Be prepared to be thoroughly misrepresented.”

“Bloody hell! This is why I wanted no part of this. No offense, but what you are describing is my worst nightmare.”

“Then you’d better hope no one saw you manhandling me into your room just now.”

“Bloody hell!” he said again.

“Would it really be that awful?” she laughed. 

“Yes! It would make a mockery of a murder investigation. It can’t look like I’m—” he grasped about for the right words.

“Mixing business with pleasure?” She offered.

“I was going to say compromised,” he said.

“Is there a risk of that, Inspector?” She asked.

It was meant playfully but there was a part of her that was genuinely interested in his answer. He was a very attractive man and she couldn’t seem to resist flirting with him. Regardless of how inappropriate it might be, given the circumstances.

He looked at her for a moment with the softest expression. It literally stole the breath from her lungs.

“Just for the record, Miss Fisher, I never mix my personal life with my professional one, regardless of how tempting it might be.”

“Good to know,” she said, unable to keep the smile off her face.

He’d called her Miss Fisher instead of Phryne. She’d noted that he tended to vary which name he called her by,but they weren't interchangeable. It depending on the circumstance. ‘Miss Fisher’ came out when he was trying to be professional or when he as annoyed with her. It also seemed to slip out whenever he was teasing, or flirting with her.

She liked it. It was surprisingly seductive in the way it rolled off his tongue.

But Phryne was nice too. She was Phryne when he forgot himself. When she ceased being a subject of his investigation and became simply a friend.

She downed the rest of her whiskey and set the glass down.

“Thank you for the drink. You will tell me if you learn anything relevant from those files?”

“Of course. And you’ll talk to your people?”

“I will.”

“Soon, please. I can’t wait long.”

“I’ll do it tonight.”

She knew she should go. It would be very hard to explain her presence should anyone discover her here, but she was finding it hard to leave and he didn’t seem to be rushing her off.

“Are you sure you won’t take me up on my offer to help. _Many hands_ , and all that,” she said. She took hold of his tie, slipping the silk between her thumb and index finger.

“My hands are quite capable,” he said. He stood stock-still, his voice free of innuendo but his eyes conveyed a different message.

“I’m sure,” she said, and if her voice had gone a bit breathy, she doubted there was a woman alive that could blame her. He was so near she could feel the heat coming off his body. “But, you do know what they say about all work and no play, don’t you, Jack?”

She finished his name with a sharp click of her tongue and they were right back where they’d been a moment before, on the verge of something heated and exciting. His breath was coming faster as her fingers worked nimbly at the knot of his tie. She tugged it just loose enough to slide the top button from the first hole. A teasing smile played on her lips as she raised her eyes to his.

She felt a shift in the air—a tumbling sensation—and then something inside her dropped neatly into place.

His eyes, which moments before had seemed playfully lustful, widened suddenly and she heard his sharp intake of breath. His expression changed to one of pleasant surprise and he smiled at her fondly. He didn’t touch her but she felt thoroughly enveloped in his embrace.

She smiled back at him, struck by a profound clarity. This changed everything.

She patted his chest softly then turned away, feeling his eyes hot on her back as she moved toward the door. She had a brief impulse to bolt the lock, reverse her steps and throw herself into his arms but instead grasped the doorknob.

“Goodnight, Jack,” she said, and made her way out into the hall.

“Goodnight, Phryne.”

As she closed the door behind her a feeling of contentment washed over her. Her mind felt clearer and more focused than it had since she’d first set foot in this place.

It dawned one her just how much she’d allowed herself to become distracted by unimportant matters. She’d got caught up in the game—the manufactured drama of the show.

No more. She was done with the backroom manipulations and the playing along. It was time to finish this business and get back to her life.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t until the door clicked shut that Jack began to come back to his senses. It happened slowly, as though his mind was not firing on all cylinders. A piston had become stuck, refusing to engage and wanting to remain in the place it currently found itself; pleasantly preoccupied by a stunning pair of mischievous blue eyes looking into his with a sincerity that thrilled him to the core.

The scent of her filled his senses. An earthy and sensuous fragrance. Not overly flowery or cloying, but rich and sumptuous. He did not recognize the perfume and yet it was comfortably familiar, like a favorite T-shirt. Worn from frequent washings and soft against the skin.

He pictured her mouth. Those painted lips curling up teasingly at the corners and then parting slightly, as if with surprise.

He took up her glass from where she’d left it discarded on the side table and absently ran his thumb over the lipstick stain on its rim. He should clean that, he thought, as his brain began to whir into motion once again. It wouldn’t do for someone to notice it and start asking questions.

He rinsed the glass, setting it to dry by the sink, then poured a small finger of whiskey into his own glass and sat down at the desk. He had a stack of photographs to go through in the hopes of identifying a possible murder weapon. Instead he pulled a different file open. One about a young girl that went to a party and never came home.

New information had been added to the nearly decade old paperwork. A single sheet with a photo clipped to it and text that identified its subject as the victim’s sister.

The picture had been taken from the website of her charitable organization and in it she looked open, approachable and unquestionably beautiful. There was something else too. Something he probably wouldn’t have recognized two days ago. There was a strength that identified her as a force not to be underestimated.

Jack smiled and turned the page.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A possible murder weapon is identified. One budding romance takes a tentative step forward while another becomes cause for concern.

Hugh Collins tucked the envelope under one arm and smoothed his hands over his daks in an attempt to dry his sweaty palms. He’d just set himself to rights when the door swung open and she was there.

Despite the fact that he’d been expecting her to answer his knock, and had been anxiously awaiting her appearance, he still felt a jolt of surprise. A swooping in his guts that knocked him back—emotionally, if not physically—and he returned the broad smile she gave him.

“You found the place,” she said, unnecessarily, since he was standing on her front step.

Her voice sounded a little high-pitched and he wondered if she might be as nervous as he. It seemed odd to be so anxious about this. They’d already spent the better part of a day together and got on well enough. But maybe it was the locale. Being at her home and, once again, out of uniform due to the need secrecy, made it feel a bit like he was arriving to collect her for a date.

Honestly, he wouldn’t mind if that were true, even though the thought was inappropriate in these circumstances. He’d accepted her assistance in a professional capacity. If he couldn’t help the way his heart beat faster when she was near, he could at least do his best to ignore it. There were boundaries to be maintained.

“Nice neighborhood,” he said, stepping in as she moved aside to admit him.

“Yes. It is,” she said, shutting the door and turning around to face him.

They stood awkwardly in the entryway of her small terrace house for a moment and then she waved her hand to invite him into the next room.

He shifted, intending to let her by first, but ended up blocking her path instead. He shifted again only to have her move in the same direction and once again hit a barrier in the form of his broad frame. This clumsy dance was a poor start as far as professionalism went. He pressed himself back against the wall to clear the space as best he could.

“You first,” he said.

She laughed, dropping her head shyly and angling her body to pass him.

“It’s a small place,” she said, apologetically.

They’d only taken a few steps and had already found themselves in the main room. He took a quick look around. It was small, as she’d said, but welcoming. A window looking out on the shared back garden let in the warm afternoon light and the smell of fresh baked biscuits hung in the air.

“It’s nice,” he said.

It looked just as he might have imagined it. The furnishings were simple but cheerful and it was extremely tidy except for the photographs spread across the floor.

On second glance, even they were tidy. She’d aligned them in a grid that reminded him of a card game he’d played as a child where you’d try to find as many card matches as possible. The trick was to remember where each numbered card was hiding, so that when you came across its mate on a subsequent turn, you could pair them. The player with the most pairs at the end would win the game. The only difference here was that the photos were placed face up, revealing their images.

“I’ve just got them sorted,” she said. “I’ve sort of recreated the room as best I could. I thought we might match them up with the police photos taken at the crime scene and then compare.”

“Wow. Yeah, that’s, um, really smart,” he said, scratching his head at her ingenuity. “This must have taken some time.”

“A bit,” she said, “but the cameras only reach a few areas so it didn’t take terribly long. The only problem is they don’t show every corner, so unless the murder weapon was in range of one of the cameras, it might be a wasted effort.”

As she spoke she made her way into the kitchen and pulled open the icebox.

“Sit down. Can I get you something? A beer or lemonade? I could make some tea, or is it a little warm for that? I’ve got some biscuits here too,” She rambled.

“Lemonade is fine. And, the biscuits smell delicious. Did you make them yourself?” He sat down gingerly on the edge of the small sofa, his posture rigid, his knees locked together.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t need to go to the trouble on my account,” he said. She blushed.

“Oh, it was no trouble. I like to bake. It sometimes helps me to have something else to occupy my mind when I’m anxious about something.”

“What are you anxious about?” He asked, genuinely concerned. He hoped his presence wasn’t making her uncomfortable.

“Mostly Phryne. I didn’t like the idea of her going on that show in the first place, and now, someone’s been murdered!”

“I don’t think she’s in any danger,” he said, trying to reassure her. “From what the inspector tells me, they’ve got eyes on her nearly all the time. And he’s there now. He’ll look out for her.”

“Do you think so?”

“Of course. It’s our job to keep people safe.”

She nodded, looking a somewhat relieved.

“She keeps telling me not to worry but I can’t help it. I’m glad she’s not so alone in there anymore. What’s the inspector like? Do you like working with him?”

As she spoke she took the stack of the crime scene photos Hugh had brought with him and began shuffling through them. When she came across one that contained an image similar to one of the photos on the floor she set it down next its corresponding photo.

Hugh took half the stack and joined her on the floor, following her lead while telling her a bit about his job. Yes, he liked working with DI Robinson. He could be demanding, but he was fair, and Hugh thought he was learning a lot from him.

“He listens to me more than some of the other DI’s. He didn’t always, but we’ve worked together enough now that we’ve developed a good rapport. We trust each other. That’s important in this job.”

“I imagine so.”

“How long have you worked for Miss Fisher?”

“Gosh,” she said, sitting back on her heels and thinking for a moment. “It’s been nearly a year now.”

“What is it you do for her, exactly?”

“Whatever she needs me to do,” Dot answered.

“So, you’re like her personal secretary?”

“I suppose you could say that. I don’t really have a title. She introduces me as her associate. But, I keep her calendar and take care of the details she doesn’t have time for. Honestly, I’m not sure what she did before me. I mean I adore her, but she can be a bit disorganized. She’s got a lot going on. She’s always either throwing an event or invited to one. It’s nearly impossible to keep up but she hates to let anyone down.”

“I see,” Hugh said, still a bit unsure what Dot’s job was or what, for that matter, Phryne Fisher did for a living. “How did you end up working for her?”

“Oh, that’s a bit of a story. I was working for a catering company as a server and we’d been hired to work one of Phryne’s parties. I got in a bit of a jam and she helped me out. When I got fired over the whole thing, she hired me on the spot.”

“You were fired?” He said, confused. She was so bright and capable and sweet. He couldn’t imagine what she might have done to get herself fired.

“It was really unfair,” she said, clearly still piqued. “There was a man at the party—I guess he was someone pretty important—but he was also very handsy, if you know what I mean, and we were all just suppose to put up with that kind of thing."

Hugh looked at her askance and she merely shrugged.

“It happens," she said. "But that night it got dicey when he cornered me in a hallway. Luckily, Phryne happened by before it got out of hand. She immediately threw him out and told him he’d be struck from any future guest lists. He complained to my boss that I’d got him blackballed and she fired me.”

“That’s not right,” Hugh said, enraged at the thought of some tosser putting his hands on her.

“No, but that’s the service industry. At least it is far too often. Anyway, Phryne found out I’d been fired and she not only hired me, but she got my boss fired. She said she’d never use the company again, and tell others to avoid it too, if they didn’t start taking better care of their employees.”

“They listened to her?”

“She’s got a lot of friends with money. It was in their best interests.”

“Are you happy working for her?” The woman sounded like a bit of a ball-buster to Hugh, but he was inclined to like her for what she’d done for Dot.

“Oh, yes. Best job I’ve ever had—Hey—what do you make of this?” Dot asked, picking up two of the photographs and holding them side by side for him to see. “Look at the shelf in the background. There’s a sculpture thingy in one of the pictures but not the other.”

“Fantastic!” Hugh said. “Are we sure it’s the same bookshelf?”

“It’s got to be. That row of books is the same in both pictures.”

Hugh took hold of the pictures looking closely at the items in the background. The sculpture Dot had referred to appeared to made of shaped metal strips spiraling up from a square marble base in a pattern that suggested a flame.

It was the type of home accessory that served no purpose and probably held no sentimental value. Hugh always wondered why someone would buy something that just sat around collecting dust.

“Could that be the murder weapon?” Dot asked, her voice almost a whisper, as though merely saying the words might put them in danger.

“Possibly. Holding onto the top part, you could swing that marble base hard enough to do some damage,” Hugh said, mimicking the act by swinging his fisted hand in an arc over his head and bringing it down on the arm of the sofa with a smack. He regretted his matter-of-fact demonstration when he saw Dot cringe.

“I should probably inform the DI,” he said, ducking his head in shame. He pulled his phone from his pocket and stood to make the call.

“What does he think?” Dot asked, once he’d hung up again.

“He’s going to have another look at the crime scene to make sure that thing wasn’t just moved somewhere else, but he thought it was a good lead.”

“Oh,” Dot said.

“You seem disappointed.”

“I just thought maybe there’d be a big search for the murder weapon now.”

“There still may be,” Hugh said, smiling. Police work was often much duller than people imagined. “He’s just being thorough. Can’t swarm the place only to find out the piece was moved for dusting, or something like that. We’ll also send the picture to our medical examiner to see if it fits the profile of the murder weapon.”

“That makes sense, I guess,” Dot said, “so, what can I do to help next?”

“Nothing, for the moment. But, I was wondering if you’d—um—let me take you to dinner to—er—thank you for everything you’ve done to help already.” He glanced up at her hopefully.

“I’d like that,” she said, smiling at him.

* * *

 

Jack had just hung up from Hugh and located his own copy of the pictures he and Miss Williams had singled out when his phone rang again. The screen flashed an unknown number.

“DI Robinson here,” Jack answered.

“Jack Robinson?” said the voice on the other end.

“Yes.”

“Phryne Fisher asked me to call. Says you got some questions for me.”

“I’m guessing you’re the ‘IT consultant’ she told me about?”

“She says you were thinking someone had shut off the cameras in the room where the guy carked it. I can tell you it wasn’t us,” the man said without wasting any time.

“You never turned off any of the cameras?”

“Like I said.”

“But you do know how it might be done? She said you were prepared to shut off the cameras in her rooms.”

“Not exactly. We were prepared to intercept the feed. The cameras would still be running but the real footage wouldn’t make it back to the control room monitors. We planned to replace it using footage we’d saved for that purpose.”

“So you wouldn’t actually turn off the cameras?”

“No. Are you daft? If we did that, there’d be notification of a camera being off, or malfunctioning, and they’d go looking to fix it. We’d only be letting ‘em know we were there.”

That sounded reasonable and Jack was glad to have his pool of suspects once again narrowed down to the people on-site.

“So, _you_ didn’t turn any cameras off, but it appears someone did. Do you think you could help us determine when that happened?”

“Should be easy enough to figure out on your own. Just check the timestamps.”

“What timestamps? The footage I have doesn’t display any.”

“Try turning on the subtitles,” the man snorted.

“Subtitles,” Jack repeated, pretty sure he was currently being laughed at on the other end of the phone.

“The stamps are hidden so they don’t mar the image but they’re there, if you know where to look. Do you know how to turn on the subtitles, or do you need me to walk you through it?” The man asked, in a tone Jack found far too condescending.

“I can sort it, thanks,” Jack said.

“That all, then?”

“One more thing. Have you ever—how did you put it—interrupted the feed for Miss Fisher?”

“Nah. She never asked us to. We just collected the recordings like she wanted and, for the record, we didn’t do nothin illegal. Didn’t have to. They don’t have a secure system. Any fool could get their hands on the stuff. The only suspect thing we done is turn it over to you lot.”

“Right. And I appreciate that. How can I reach you if I have any more questions?” Jack was fairly sure the number that had displayed on his screen would not actually connect him with the man.

“Phryne knows how to find us.”  

The line went dead. Jack rolled his eyes. All this cloak and dagger nonsense was a bit much. There was no reason for him to rely on the word of whoever had been on the other end of the phone but Jack wanted to believe what the man had said, mainly because it would mean that Phryne was still in the clear.

That concerned him. He was too personally invested in clearing her as a suspect.

Add to that the fact that he’d just spent the last forty minutes reviewing a case he had no business looking into while his own murder investigation remained unsolved, and only one conclusion could be drawn. He was too personally invested in Phryne Fisher, full stop.

This was dangerous territory.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne faces an unappealing choice that could risk her growing friendship with Jack.

It was going on midnight when Mal got back to the control room but she wasn’t surprised to find Victoria still there. The boss was leaned back in a chair, her red-soled pumps resting on the desk in front of her, ankles crossed, eyes on the large monitor at the front of the room.

She was watching the interviews. These filler spots were a staple of every episode. Each contestant, and sometimes Phryne, would sit down with the show’s host, Kurt Chandler, and have a conversation about their ‘quest’ to find true love. Mal quietly sat down and joined the viewing. It was something she and Victoria often did together. Victoria liked having an audience to her commentary.

 

> _I think it’s going well,” Lyle Compton said confidently. He sat back casually, his legs crossed. One arm was flung out over the back of the sofa ensuring he took up as much space as possible. “She’s an enchanting woman.”_
> 
> _“Would you say you’ve made a connection with her?” Kurt asked._
> 
> _“Yes. I’d say so. I think she appreciates what I bring to the table. She sees the value in a mature man with serious prospects.”_
> 
> _“It’s no secret that a career in politics is in your future. How do you see Phryne fitting in with that?”_
> 
> _“I think she’d be quite an asset. The ‘good woman behind the man’, so to speak.”_
> 
> _“But, she has her own business interests—”_
> 
> _“And of course she’d be allowed to continue with her work. I am a modern man, Kurt.”_
> 
>  

“Allowed?” Victoria snorted, “well, isn’t he a great guy. What do you wanna bet he’d ask her to call him ‘daddy’.”

Mal responded with the expected guffaw.

 

> _“What about her politics? Her charitable foundation is known for supporting liberal leaning causes. She’s also been very outspoken on the issue of equal pay. Do you agree with her stance there?” Kurt asked._
> 
> _“I wasn’t planning on having to debate my positions,” Lyle chuckled, “but equal pay is an important and complicated issue with no easy fix,” he said seriously, staring directly into the camera lens as though this were a campaign ad. “In many instances, it’s really more a matter of women preferring to enter into the lower paying fields and we can’t simply legislate our way...”_

“Blah, blah, blah. What a prick,” Victoria said, hitting the fast forward button. “By all means, let’s get him in government, he’s just what we need.”

“Show that clip and he’ll be sunk before he gets started,” Mal said.

"I wish," Victoria said. She stopped the tape again. Warren Renquist was on screen doing his best imitation of a wounded puppy.

 

> _“When I was younger I wasn’t what you’d call lucky in love, Kurt. I was a late bloomer, but a decent guy. Trouble is, the girls don’t always want the nice guy, you know?”_

“Poor baby,” Victoria mocked the screen. “Did the high school beauties reject you? What a loser.” She hit pause and the screen froze on Warren’s mopey face. “Why is this guy still here?”

“Not sure really,” Mal said. “Phryne had a bit of a connection with him early on but she hasn’t paid him much attention lately. I think he managed to hang around by staying in the background and not offending anyone.”

“Well, he’s boring.”

“Unfortunately he’s got to stick around for a little longer. Our numbers are dwindling too fast.”

“What about your plan? Is your guy ready?”

“He’s more than ready. There’s one big chip on that shoulder.”

“Perfect. When will you spring him on her?”

“I’m not sure that’s the best approach. He’s a bit too eager and might even be volatile.”

“Volatile can be very entertaining.”

“Yes, but we don’t want it to get out of our control.”

“Then keep it under control. We went to considerable expense to get him here, Mal—on your advice,” Victoria warned.

“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll make it work. One way or another.”

“You’re not inspiring a whole lot of confidence here.”

“I’ve got this.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Victoria settled back in her chair and started the video again. “Will you listen to this sad sack!” She said, laughing as Warren spoke of being an unattractive adolescent and his trouble talking to girls. “I take back what I said. He’s thoroughly entertaining. All we need now is some popcorn!”

 

* * *

 

Phryne woke early again and found herself walking out of doors. Her eyes kept wandering toward the hills in search a lone bicyclist. He’d been in her head as she fell asleep last night and there again when she woke. She didn’t mind the company. She’d slept better than she had in weeks.

She turned her steps to the gazebo hoping she might find a few minutes to run an idea by him. He’d said he couldn’t share the information from those other case files with her but she wanted to try and change his mind. She couldn’t just sit around hoping something could be found to reopen the case, and in her role as Damsel, she was uniquely positioned to help.

She could easily seek some private time with Warren and inquire about his past. The more she knew, the easier it would be to tailor her questions to steer him into unwittingly divulging some incriminating information.

She didn’t know why she’d not thought of it before. She’d been so focussed on obtaining physical evidence that it hadn’t occurred to her to try to get him to open up about the time he’d spent in Australia as a student. Just placing him in the vicinity of any one of the assaults was bound to help the case. She saw Jack coming into view and hurried her steps only to be turned around by someone calling her name.

“Hey! You’re up early! I just came from your rooms. Not sleeping well?” Mal asked, hurrying to catch up.

“Got a lot on my mind,” Phryne said, faking a smile.

“I can understand that! We’re getting down to the wire aren’t we? Are you close to making your decision?”

“It’s not that. I was thinking of Chad’s murder,” Phryne said, not at all surprised that Mal would assume her unrest had to do with some manufactured-for-TV relationship.

“Of course. That was terrible,” Mal said, “and not to be crass, but that brings up what I need to talk to you about. His death has put us in a bit of a bind with the schedule.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. We’re down to four knights far sooner than we should be. We need to find a way to stretch things out. ‘The show must go on’ and all that.”

“I suppose it must,” Phryne said.

She felt a twinge of guilt. No one seemed to be expending much energy mourning Chad. Even she was eager to continue with filming. Especially now that she’d formed a new plan.

“I’m glad you understand the problem,” Mal said.

“Can’t we just skip the elimination this week? Keep all four men a bit longer?”

“That would’ve worked if we hadn’t had to do that a few times already this season to account for your mass elimination in the early weeks. I’m afraid that tactic has grown stale. ‘Been there done that’, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, yes,” Phryne said, impatiently. There was no need for Mal to beat that dead horse. Everyone’s irritation at her earlier antics were well documented. “What do you suggest?”

“We’ve been mulling over some ideas. Can we take a seat here and discuss them?”

“All right,” Phryne said, with a frustrated glance at the hills. She followed the other woman’s lead and sat down in one of the chairs on the patio. Mal sat across from her, leaning forward eagerly.

“So, one option is to add a new man to the mix.”

“Add someone new? This late in the game? How would that even work?” The last thing Phryne wanted was to drag one more unsuspecting rube into this charade.

“We have a couple of options. The first would be to bring in someone already known to you, like an ex,” Mal said.

“No chance of that. There’s no one you could use. It’s been years since I’ve dated anyone long enough for them to qualify as an ex.”

“Yes, we had to go back quite a ways to find him, but there is one man that would qualify.”

Phryne felt a flare of anxiety. _It couldn’t possibly be—but then again—of course it could._

“No,” she said, flatly. “Not him. Absolutely not.”

“Hear me out,” Mal said.

“I don’t have to. It’s out of the question. He’d never do it anyway,” Phryne said, hoping his pride wouldn’t allow him to come begging after her on some ridiculous reality dating show, but she wasn’t so sure. Rene was the type that might actually relish the chance to humiliate her while getting his fifteen minutes of fame.

“He’s already agreed,” Mal said, confirming that he was still the shallow reptile he’d always been.

“You've talked to him? Before asking me?”

Phryne shot to her feet. She was livid. And something else that startled her even more. She was frightened. After all these years the prospect of seeing him again still scared her and that was unacceptable. She forced the fear into submission, concentrating on the anger.

“Calm down,” Mal said.

“I’m perfectly calm. This is not happening. Tell him not to come.”

“He’s already here. He’s been in Melbourne for the last couple of weeks. He can be on set with one phone call.”

“A couple of weeks? So, this has nothing to do with our current situation? This was always going to happen?”

“Not necessarily, but Victoria likes to have an ace up her sleeve.” Mal reached out to grab Phryne’s wrist, “here, sit down. Tell me what your concerns are. Let me help.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit about being on my side, Mal. I’m not an idiot.”

“I am on your side! I’m doing you a favor by coming to you with this! Victoria wanted to spring him on you on camera and hope for fireworks.”

“I’ll walk off. He puts one foot on this set and I will walk off.”

“You’d be in breach of contract.”

“I don’t care!”

“You will once the lawyers get started.”

Phryne seethed. This whole endeavor was turning into one big disaster. She’d neglected her real life for months now, trapped in this alternate reality, and if she walked off now she might end up with nothing to show for it. Add to that the looming threat of costly litigation and coming face-to-face with her brutal ex was beginning to look like the lesser of two evils—but just barely. She plopped back down in her seat.

“You said there was more than one option. What’s the other?” She asked, warily.

As if on cue, Jack biked by on his way back to his rooms. He gave the women an acknowledging nod of his head and Mal smiled widely, waving back.

“What do you think of that detective?” She asked, once he’d passed.

“What do I think of him? You’re not suggesting...” Phryne didn’t like the gleam in Mal’s eye.

“He’s already here and he’s very attractive. He’s a bit stiff on camera but we can work with that. And I’ve seen you with him. You seem to have a way with the man. I think you could bring out another side of him.”

“You want to add Inspector Robinson as a fifth knight?” Phryne said, not even bothering to hide her derisive snort. “He’ll never go for it. He thinks this whole thing is absurd.”

“We wouldn’t be quite so forward about it. He wouldn’t be joining you on dates or anything like that, but there are ways we could sort of slip him in the background, create some intrigue.”

“Slip him in? You mean without his knowledge.” 

“Yes. Like I said, you have a way with him. A rapport. It’s pretty clear he’s susceptible. You’d just need to play that up a little. Find excuses to talk to him, spend time with him. We’ll do the rest.”

“So I’m suppose to flirt with Jack while, unbeknownst to him, you film us and cut the footage to make it look like something’s going on between us?”

“Basically.”

“You want me to use him,” Phryne said.

“I wouldn’t put it that way. All we’re asking is for you to talk to the man. How he reacts is up to him. He’s already agreed to us filming him.”

“For the murder investigation! He didn’t agree to this.”

“He signed the release. That’s all we need.”

“The man is here to do a serious job. We’d be making a mockery of it. Of him.”

When Phryne had teased Jack about being careful around each other it had been just that—a tease. She knew there was the possibility of footage being misused but she hadn’t considered it very likely.

The whole point of the show was to have it end with a marriage proposal. A romance with an outsider might prevent that, so she’d assumed her budding friendship with Jack was safe. She’d assumed the producers wouldn’t exploit it at the risk of their preferred outcome. She’d been dead wrong and the thought made her sick to her stomach.

“You care for him, don’t you?” Mal said. There was a look of triumph on her face that made Phryne cheeks flush.

“I hardly know him,” she protested. “I just don’t think it’s fair. To him or to Chad. What would it do to the murder investigation if we make the man in charge of it look like a fool?”

“That’s not really my problem,” Mal said, “but if you feel that strongly about it, we can go the other way. It’s up to you.”

“Sure it is,” Phryne shook her head ruefully. She was stuck and she knew it. And worse, Mal knew it.

Barely twelve hours ago Jack had proclaimed this exact scenario, and the harm it would bring to the case, his worst nightmare, but what if there was a way to mitigate that damage? Jack didn’t have to come out of this any worse for wear if she played the game right.

It was certainly the easier way out, if a little cowardly. But, was it worth risking Jack’s reputation? Worth risking his trust in her?

She stood and took a deep breath. She’d made this bed.

“Bring on the bastard,” she said, with a smile that bared all her teeth, “and remind him that I’m not a child anymore.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne reflects on her past with Rene and prepares for their inevitable meeting.

Phryne paced the floor of her room. Why was he here? Why would he agree to do this?

She hoped it was just a matter of his oversized ego seeking a bit of fame. She wouldn’t put it past him use this moment in an attempt to revive his failed career. He’d never lived up to the promise he was so sure he held.

The roiling in the pit of her stomach grew and she rushed to the bathroom thinking she might actually be physically ill. A splash of cool water on her face settled her down some, but she was still shaking. With fury, she told herself, because she didn’t want to admit to the fear and shame.

She thought she’d exorcised this demon when she’d returned to Paris two years after fleeing him. She’d even ventured into a part of town where she risked running into him to extract a little personal revenge. After that trip she’d felt strong again, thought she’d put it all in the past.

She’d been kidding herself. She hadn’t exorcised it, she’d buried it. Because she didn’t like admitting that earlier version of herself had ever existed.

She’d always been independent and she knew she was smart. Too smart for her own good, her mother said. She’d graduated from Uni in three years and had set out on a celebratory trip through Europe. She was alone and on her own dime.

The trip was, in part, to have been funded by a generous graduation gift from her Aunt Prudence, but her father had withheld the money when he discovered Phryne was not following the itinerary he’d set for her. An itinerary that was long on visits with his influential friends in England that Phryne suspected he hoped might yield a suitable matrimonial match for his daughter.

The change in fortune didn’t slow her down. She made her way by picking up odd, off the books, jobs. She spent a month slinging drinks in a pub outside London and, in Paris, she found work as a life art model for drawing classes at a fine arts college.

It was her third night on that job, near the end of her shift, when he appeared. He carried himself with a confidence that stirred the air in the room. He was clearly older than she but she thought he was possibly the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

The instructor introduced him as a friend and incredible talent. Someone whose name would soon be well known.

He smiled at the praise but demurred, glancing around the room. His eyes fell on her.

“Quel est ce bijou?” He asked.

“Mon nouveaus modèle. Mademoiselle Phryne,” the instructor answered. “Tu approuves?”

He nodded.

Normally, a cheesy compliment like that would have turned her off or even made her laugh, but from his lips the words enchanted and she felt her body flush with heat. She blamed the French language. Too romantic by half.

After that he occupied himself by circling the room and observing the students at work. Occasionally he’d stop at a drawing, and look from it to her appraisingly, but he never spoke a word to her directly. Still, she’d felt the heat of his critical gaze as though it were a physical touch. A touch that warmed her and had her fighting not to squirm in her seat.

She’d nearly forgotten him, when two weeks later she saw him out at at a nightclub. He wasn’t dancing. He was simply standing by the bar, watching the room with an aloof expression, but once again, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. When he stepped outside for a smoke she was bold enough to follow.

She found him leaning against the side of the building, the glowing tip of his cigarette drawing her like a beacon.

“Excusez-moi, Monsieur Dubois. Vous souvenez-vous de moi?” She asked.

He squinted at her dispassionately. His lips pursed as he raised his head to release a stream of cigarette smoke up and away from her face.

“Tu es le modèle.”

“Oui.”

“Your French is not bad, but you are not French, no?”

“No.”

He nodded. “What is your name?”

“Phryne.”

“Well, Phryne, I do remember you. I thought you a very good model,” he said.

“Did you?”

“Yes. You have a magnificent figure. Very—nubile,” he said, raking his eyes over her body as though he could see her naked at that very moment. “It was a shame none of those amateurs knew what to do with it.”

She took the cigarette from his fingers and placed it between her own lips, drawing in a long drag and releasing it slowly in his direction while maintaining eye contact.

“And you, Monsieur Dubois?” She stubbed out the cigarette on the brick wall behind him, “what would you do with my body?”

She’d never before been with such an experienced or talented lover. She couldn’t get enough of him. And he was just as addicted to her. He said he craved the taste of her and needed the touch of her hand. She’d mistaken it all for love and within weeks she’d moved in with him.

He called her his muse. His little black cat. His jewel. He spent hours each day drawing and painting her and their nights were filled with parties and wild, passionate love making.

Phryne shook the memory from her head. Far from bringing any pleasure, it only renewed the sick stirring in her gut. For more than a year she’d stayed with him as he’d slowly exerted more control and eroded her self-esteem with insidious little insults that chipped away at her.

When he’d hit an artistic slump he’d blame her. She was eating and drinking too much leaving her puffy and bloated for their sittings. When she drew too much attention she was an ugly foreigner, laughing too loud, behaving crassly and embarrassing him in front of his friends. If she objected to him bringing home and sleeping with other women that sat for him, he said she was too young and unsophisticated—not creative enough to understand that it was just part of his process. She was a child. Too immature to handle the depth and breadth of his love and no match for his superior intellect.

At first he was apologetic after a tirade and if she tried to leave would beg her to return. He’d say that a love such as theirs was new to him too. That it was a rare and precious thing and he was sorry to have risked it. He would do better, he promised. But she must do better too. 

He only wanted to please her, and if she would just stop questioning and doubting him, he wouldn’t get so angry. He only hurt her because she hurt him first with her disrespect, but he loved her, he said. His work suffered without her for inspiration. He would die without her.

So she went back. She always went back. She had nowhere else to go. By that time her only friends were his friends. Her only home the tiny loft they shared. And she cared for him. When you cared for someone, you wanted them to be happy. So, she tried to help him when he struggled with his art. She tried to please him. She tempered her behavior, watched her weight and learned to step lightly to avoid his wrath.

It was his dream to have a showing of his work but none of the local galleries were interested. He found it particularly galling when his friend, the instructor whose classes Phryne had sat for, had a successful showing of his own.

That man was undeserving, a hack, Rene would say. He was convinced that once the critics saw _his_ work they would recognize his genius and he would get everything coming to him. He would be a celebrated artist. He would be praised and fêted and his success would be hers as well. Everything he did was for her. For them and their future.

As soon as she turned twenty-one, and gained independent access to her trust fund, she took out the money he needed to rent a space for his show. She worked tirelessly to arrange it. Put up with his fits. Her entire life was centered around him and his needs but it was never enough and his tantrums grew more unpredictable and violent.

He never struck her, but she’d dodged many a projectile thrown in her direction and endured verbal assaults that left her shaken. More than once he threw her out, saying he couldn’t work with her hovering, and she’d spend the night with a friend or wandering the streets in the dark when they started asking too many questions.

It wasn’t forever, she told herself. Once the show opened, he would relax. They would be happy again.

But the show, not surprisingly, did not meet Rene’s expectations or earn the attention he thought he deserved. When he looked for someone to blame, his ire settled on Phryne.

As had become habit she tried to soothe him. She pointed out that the show had been well attended and that he’d sold several paintings.

He told he she was stupid. That she didn’t understand his world and that he should never have trusted her to put the show together. It had been sloppy and unprofessional. She’d humiliated him.

She’d thought of nothing but him and his show for months. She’d arranged everything. She’d even spent her own money, which he’d not made one mention of ever paying back. She snapped at him. Called him ungrateful.

That’s when she saw it. The look in his eyes that said he could kill her—just before the back of his hand met the side of her face.

But all of this was over long ago and, if she hadn’t properly dealt with it before, it was beyond time that she did. She would face him. Hear him out. There was even the remote possibility he was prepared to offer an apology. If he did, she would gracefully accept and send him on his way. If he didn’t, if he was still up to his old games, which she thought more than likely, she’d be ready for that too.

She went looking for Mal again and made arrangements to have a parcel from home delivered to the set. Victoria wasn’t the only one that liked having an ace up her sleeve.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't a very long chapter but this seemed the best place to end it. I have the next chapter in the works and hope to post it by the weekend. 
> 
> I'm a bit behind in replying to comments but will try to get to that soon too! Thank you to everyone reading along and for the wonderful notes and kudos! They really help to keep me motivated!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack searches for the murder weapon while Phryne awaits her past.

* * *

 

After Hugh’s call Jack made a visit to the victim’s room. The item in the picture was nowhere to be found, lending credence to the theory that the murderer had taken it with them. It may have already been smuggled off the property, but due to the sheer size of this place, and its enhanced scrutiny of anyone coming or going, the killer might have felt safer hiding it on-site.

If they managed to find it, there was a good chance the coroner could confirm it as the murder weapon, but Jack had little hope of it revealing the killer.

The murderer had been smart enough to take it with them, surely they’d also have been smart enough to wipe away any prints. Still, it was important to tie up as many loose ends as possible. Jack liked a neat and thorough investigation and every knot tied was one around the killer’s neck.

He returned to his room and called Hugh back with the news. They would search the castle in the morning. With no other pressing leads at hand in the _Happy Ever After_ death—odd turn of phrase, that— Jack returned to reviewing the files in what he now thought of as Janey’s case. He looked at dates, read witness statements, and scribbled notes until he could no longer keep his eyes open.

Despite the late night, he still woke early and set out on his bike. Hugh wouldn’t be arriving for a couple of hours and the early morning exercise always helped Jack keep a clearer head throughout the day.

He also hoped he might run into Miss Fisher again. He had a couple of questions regarding the notes she'd given him that needed answering.

He saw her upon returning from his ride, but she was deep in conversation with Mal and there was no way he was going near her with the other woman around. Not after what Phryne had warned him of. He had no intention of giving the show runners any ammunition that might draw him further into their insane world.

Perhaps it was just as well. It might be better to bring what he had to Margo first, and make sure this was going somewhere, before getting Phryne’s hopes up.

After a quick shower and a couple of phone calls, he headed to Victoria’s office to inform her of the search. It grated that he needed to take this step. The woman always acted like he was asking her permission.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, Inspector,” she said, congenially. She appeared to Jack to be in a very good mood. “We have a full day of shooting and will be using only the patio and the billiards room, so you’ll have unfettered access to all other rooms in the house.”

“Thank you. My sergeant should be arriving shortly. I trust he won’t have trouble at the gate?”

“I’ll send word immediately that he be admitted, and seeing as I’m being so very cooperative, may I ask a small favor of you?”

“Your cooperation is not an option,” Jack reminded her, “any failure to cooperate will result in a termination of our agreement. No more filming.”

“You really are a hard-ass, you know that? I only meant to request that you respect the boundaries of our work today. Try not to distract the cast and crew, and remain quiet when in the vicinity of filming.”

“You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. And if I find I have urgent need to access either the billiards room or the patio, I will holler ‘cut’ before barging in, so as not to ruin the scene.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant, but I’ll take it.”

Victoria’s walkie-talkie squawked and Mal’s voice could be heard saying that their guest had arrived.

“Good,” Victoria replied, turning her back on Jack to speak into the walkie-talkie. She dropped her voice but not enough that she couldn’t be overheard. “What’s he like?” She asked.

“Pretty much what I thought. Arrogant, but quick to turn on the charm. He’s in makeup now and already has the girls wrapped around his finger,” Mal replied.

“Make sure they don’t cross paths. We need their first encounter caught on camera.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep them apart. Just wanted to give you an update.”

Victoria signed off and turned back to Jack, looking lost in thought.

“You have a guest on set today? Has that happened before?” He asked.

He certainly hoped not. Victoria had sworn up and down that the set was closed and tightly controlled. She looked up as though just remembering he was there.

“It’s rare,” she said.

“But has it happened before,” he repeated, “is there any chance someone else was here the day of the murder?”

“No. You have our visitor logs from that day,” she reminded him. “This is the first outsider we’ve had here this season.”

Jack was a bit perturbed. He was constantly being reminded of the need to keep the murder and the investigation under wraps. The fact that he’d had to go through channels to get Collins’ visit approved had been particularly irksome and yet the producers were free to bring new people into the mix willy-nilly.

But it was more than irritation. Access to the cameras pointed to a member of the production team, or crew, as his murderer and this newcomer could have been brought on set to disturb evidence.

“Whose idea was this?” He asked.

“Mine, ultimately. After consultation with my production team,” Victoria said.

“I should have been informed,” he said.

“I don’t need your permission,” Victoria said. “This is still my set.”

“But it is also my crime scene and I can’t have just anyone wandering into it.”

“He is not ‘wandering’ and will always be accompanied by a member of my team.”

“Who is this person?”

“With the recent— _unpleasantness_ —we’ve planned a little treat for our damsel. We’ve brought an old friend of hers for a visit,” Victoria explained.

“An ‘old friend’?” Jack arched an eyebrow skeptically.

“Yes. A friend from her past.”

 _Ex-lover more likely_ , Jack thought. That set his mind at ease, somewhat. This was just more manufactured drama for the show. There was little chance it had anything to do with his case.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see a friendly face, but if you plan to bring anyone else here, I’d like to be informed ahead of time.”

Jack left to wait out front for Collins. He’d made a list of the occupied rooms and had split up the search between the two of them, assigning Phryne’s rooms to Hugh to avoid any chance of bias. Normally, they’d have more help in searching a property of this size and Jack was once again annoyed by the special concessions he was having to make for this case. With just two of them the search was likely to take hours.  
He saw Hugh’s unmarked car coming up the drive and resigned himself to a long and tedious day.

 

* * *

 

 

“How is this going to go?” Phryne asked.

“Didn’t you get your copy of today’s schedule?” Mal asked as though she was ready to fire whoever had fallen down on the job.

“I got it. It’s rather vague,” Phryne said. “It just says the guys are gathering in the billiards room while I do an interview with Kurt on the patio.”

“Right. Now that we’re down to four knights we want to get the remaining men on tape talking about thier relationships with you and what they think of their chances. You’ll be talking with Kurt about how you think things are going and the process you’re using to make your decision.”

“Let me guess. Part of my interview will include questions about past relationships.”

“Probably,” Mal said. “We have some general talking points we’d like Kurt to hit on, but mostly we just want an honest conversation.”

“And what of my past? Is he already here?” Phryne asked, unable to keep from mentioning what was foremost in her mind.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it matter? You said you were okay with this,” Mal said.

“No. I said I’d do it. That’s not the same thing.” The hostility in her tone was unmistakable.

“I’m not your enemy, Phryne,” Mal sighed, “and I need you to trust me so I’ll tell you what I can. He is here and you will see him today, but I can’t tell you when. We want your unprepared reaction.”

“Did my package arrive?”

“It’s on my desk.”

“Have you looked at it?”

“Yes, but I’m the only one who has seen it, as you requested. I had to make sure it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“What did you decide?”

“I think it’s just a little dangerous, but spectacularly so,” Mal said, smiling broadly.

“It will get a reaction, I think,” Phryne said. She smiled too, for the first time all morning.

“I still want to know its significance,” Mal said.

“It’s just a piece of my past. That’s what the episode is all about, right? I thought it would add a bit of color.”

“It will that,” Mal agreed.

“Can you have it brought to the set? I want it with me wherever I am, but leave it wrapped. I’d like to be the one to reveal it.”

“They should be almost ready for you now. We can stop by my desk and pick it up on the way.”

Once on the patio Phryne surveyed the set-up. She’d be seated across from Kurt for the interview, each of them in one of the large wicker patio chairs. There was a third chair between them, confirming that they planned to add someone else to the conversation at some point. She set her parcel down making sure that, when unwrapped, it would be facing the third chair.

Kurt arrived shortly and inquired after it. She explained that it was a surprise for later in the show and said that she would find a way bring it up when the time was right. Being used to odd twists and turns, Kurt didn’t give it another thought.

Phryne sat back in her chair and patiently went through the sound and light checks that had become routine to her. It was just like any other day on set, except that it wasn’t.

She closed her eyes and took a few meditative, deep breaths. Whatever was going to happen, it would be over with by the end to the day. There was nothing to do now but get through it.

* * *

 

Jack and Hugh had finished searching the occupied rooms without success and were moving on to the unoccupied rooms of the castle. It was a fairly daunting task, given the sheer size of the place, but many of the rooms they were heading to now were unfurnished, so Jack hoped that might speed things along.

As they walked from one wing to the next, they passed several common areas. Jack could see the filming going on in the billiards room and steered clear. He could check there later. They passed the elaborate bar where Phryne had poured him a drink and his head automatically swiveled to the two leather chairs where they’d sat talking for hours. He’d had no idea what he was getting into that night.

“Sir,” Collins said, interrupting Jack’s silent reminiscing, “is that what I think it is?”

Jack eyes followed Hugh’s pointing finger, and there, not twenty feet away, and sitting in plain view on a shelf, was their murder weapon—or an exact replica.

“Bloody hell,” Jack said.

He racked his brain trying to remember if it had been there that first night. He didn’t think so but, as it wouldn’t have held any special significance then, it was very possible he just hadn’t noticed it.

“Could it really be the murder weapon? Why leave it here in the open?” Hugh said, as he secured it in an evidence bag.

“Why not? It’s doubtful anyone would question its appearance. The place is full of bric-a-brac.”

“Looks clean,” Hugh commented.

“I don’t think we’ll get lucky enough to find prints, but let’s get it to the lab.”

They were at the far side of the house and it was faster to cut through the out of doors to Hugh’s car. They’d have to pass the action on the patio so Jack warned Hugh to be quiet and stay out of range of any cameras.

He was moving as quickly as he could through the area, Hugh on his heels as though they were traversing a minefield, when he noticed both Victoria and Mal on the scene. Their heads were bent together whispering as they watched the action.

That was unusual. From what Jack had learned, Victoria was rarely out among the crew during filming, preferring to watch and comment from the comfort of the air-conditioned control room.

He wondered what was so remarkable about today’s shoot. It looked boring enough. Just Phryne and the host sitting opposite each other and having a chat. Then he remembered the conversation he’d overheard this morning. The one about the ‘old friend’. That got him curious, so when Collins whispered that he’d never been on a film set before and asked if they could watch for a minute, Jack agreed.

They quietly stepped up behind one of the cameras so that they could hear the conversation from the patio.

“How long were you and Rene together?” Kurt asked Phryne.

“A little more than a year, I guess. It was a long time ago.”

“But you never forget your first love,” Kurt said dramatically.

“True. I’ve never forgotten Archie,” Phryne said, wistfully. “We were six and he could spit farther than anyone I’d ever seen.”

Kurt laughed. “I’m talking about your first _real_ love, not a childhood crush.”

Jack had to give her credit. She was managing to be charming while still not giving anything away. Apparently they wanted to attach great significance to this man from her past that they’d dragged out here, but Phryne wasn’t making it easy.

“It’s all real,” Phryne said. “All of my relationships have been meaningful in their own way. I don’t see a need to rank them.”

“You lived with Rene Dubois for nearly a year. Surely that says something?”

“I’m not sure what,” she shrugged, “other than that I was young, in a foreign country and needed somewhere to live. At the time, moving in with the man I was seeing made sense.”

“But you’ve never lived with another man, is that correct?”

“Does my father count?”

“You know what I mean,” Kurt laughed.

“No, I’ve never lived with another man with whom I was romantically involved.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. My work keeps me very busy and I find I like my solitude when I can find it. I like living alone.”

“Do you think that could change?”

“Life always involves change, Kurt,” she said.

“Perhaps one of our knights can be the catalyst for such change?”

“Perhaps,” she said, without conviction.

“But, to date, no one has tempted you into that kind of commitment since this man from your past?”

Kurt was determined to beat this drum and doing a rather poor job of it. Victoria could be heard muttering under her breath for him to get on with it and Phryne’s expression was one of such unrelenting exasperation that Jack had to hold back a laugh.

“I’m not sure I was even thinking about commitment at the time,” she said, wearily. “It was exciting at the start. I didn’t think much beyond that.”

“You were young.”

“As I said. It was many year’s ago.”

“At least ten years ago,” Kurt said, placing an unnecessary weight on the statement.

“Around that, yes,” Phryne said.

Her smile had grown thin with impatience—and something else Jack couldn’t put his finger on.

“And you’ve not seen or spoken to this man from your past in all this time,” Kurt said.

“I have not,” Phryne confirmed.

“Would you like to?” Kurt asked as though offering a child an ice cream cone.

“Actually, Kurt. I’d prefer this bit of my past stay in the past,” she said, bluntly.

Clearly that was not the response Kurt had expected. He looked surprised and glanced briefly at Victoria and Mal before looking back at Phryne. He opened his mouth, then shut it again without saying anything as his eyes lifted, looking over Phryne’s head at something, or someone, behind her. Phryne rose from her seat and turned slowly.

“Bonjour, mon petit Phryne. Are you happy to see me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's not, by the way. 
> 
> And I know you're not happy I've left it here either, but the whole chapter couldn't just be about Phryne. Jack has a murder case that needs attention or this will never get resolved! 
> 
> More to come soon!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne sits down with Rene. (finally)

Rene strode onto the scene like a returning hero, throwing his arms wide as he greeted her. If he thought she would run into his embrace, he was dead wrong.

She’d known this was coming and had thought she was prepared but the reality of seeing him so near, and drawing ever nearer, chilled her to the bone. Her entire body clenched, preparing to fly as far from him as possible.

She forced herself to stand her ground—to think rationally. He wouldn’t try anything in front of so many people.

He still wore his hair long but it was obvious he was now coloring it, and while a thick layer of makeup had done a good job, up close she could see that the years had started to take their toll. From the fit of his shirt it seemed he’d yet to come to terms with the extra inches around his midsection.

He wore a scarf around his neck that made him look very much the stereotypical frenchman. She wondered if that was his idea or if it had come from the wardrobe department. Playing to the stereotype was a smart move. He was still an attractive man and between the mystique that seemed to surround French men, and his accent, women were bound to swoon.

He hadn’t lost any of his swagger but, what had once seemed to Phryne an irresistible and smoldering sexuality, now looked like preening arrogance. He had a need for attention and admiration that bordered on narcissistic. But she only saw all this because she knew him. Others, she was sure, would see what he wanted them to see. He really should have chosen acting as a profession, he might have had more success in life.

“I don’t know about happy, Rene,” she said. “I’m _surprised_ to see you. I can’t imagine what you’re doing here.”

“I was invited.”

“Not by me.”

“Monsieur Dubois! Welcome to _Happy Ever After_ ,” Kurt interjected, rising to shake Rene’s hand.

“Thank you, Kurt, it is nice to be here. Please, call me Rene,” Rene said, settling into the unoccupied chair with a friendly smile.

Phryne sat back down at the edge of her seat, fighting her brain’s instructions to run. Her breath was coming fast and she felt herself start to sweat.

She let the conversation swirl around her as she sought to get herself under control.

“You’ve travelled a long way to be with us today,” Kurt said, “and I know you have something you’d like to say to our damsel.”

“Yes, Kurt. When I was contacted by your show I saw, perhaps, an opportunity to correct a mistake from my past.”

Phryne’s head snapped up. Had she underestimated the man? Could it be he had changed and was ready to take responsibility for his treatment of her all those years ago?

“What mistake is that?” Kurt asked.

“Letting the one great love of my life get away, Kurt. The one woman I could never forget. My beloved, Phryne,” Rene said.

“Your one great love,” Kurt repeated breathlessly for the home audience. His habit of repeating phrases in a simpering and dramatic tone was getting on Phryne’s nerves.

“Yes. I have never found another,” Rene confirmed. He looked at Phryne with a small smile, his eyes dewy and hopeful.

Phryne could almost hear the collective sigh that would rise from the tv audience but the only thing rising now was the bile in her throat.

“Well,” Kurt said, “this would be most unusual for our show but then, this has been a most unusual season. What do you think, Phryne?”

Kurt pulled from his breast pocket a blue satin ribbon. One of the Damsel’s coveted favors that she presented to a knight as a sign she wished him to remain.

“Are you suggesting Rene stay on as one of my knights?” Phryne said, pretending to be astonished.

“It would be your decision, of course,” Kurt said.

“The very thought feels wrong to me, Kurt. As though we are trying to replace Chad.”

Of course that’s exactly what they were doing and why she was in this predicament. They only had three knights and had callously calculated that they needed four.

“We are all still mourning Chad. He can never be replaced,” Kurt replied, rolling neatly over Chad’s cold body like a speed bump, “but this is a special circumstance. A chance, perhaps, to find lost love?”

“It hardly seems fair to the other men,” she argued.

“There seems to be unfinished between you and Rene. Wouldn’t it be more unfair to the other men to continue on without addressing it?” Kurt asked.

Phryne shook her head. “I’m not held back by my past. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing here for Rene.” She wouldn't even do him the courtesy of addressing him directly.

“You are here, mon amour. I let you go once, I cannot let you go again without a fight,” Rene said, he made to reach for her hand but she pulled it back.

“He seems quite determined, Phryne,” Kurt said.

“As am I.”

“I think, perhaps, she protests too much, Kurt, no? She has not forgotten the passion we shared and it frightens her.”

“Phryne has been very coy about that time in her life,” Kurt said.

"I've not been coy. You simply refuse to believe me when I say there's nothing to talk about," she argued.

"You see what I mean, Rene?" Kurt laughed, "why don't you tell us about that time, since Phryne is too shy."

Phryne threw her hands in the air. Kurt had said the decision would be hers, but apparently Rene would  have the last word—and every other one as well.

When he began his story, Phryne was nowhere in it. Rene talked mostly of himself and his life as an artist in Paris. He painted a very romantic picture. Victoria and Mal would be thrilled. The audience would eat this up.

When she finally did make an appearance, she was a very one dimensional character and seemed to exist only in relation to what she provided him. She was his inspiration, his muse, his beautiful, black cat. He loved her madly and envisioned a future with her, but she was young, and insecure. She didn’t understand the life of an artist and resented the attention he received from other women. None of them meant anything to him, of course, he was faithful only to her but he couldn’t make her believe him.

When Phryne tried to interject, or contradict some part of this tale, he would, in a gentle (and patronizing) manner claim she was mistaken or letting her fears color her memories. He was gentle, congenial, and charm itself, and she wanted to smash his face in.

He ended his story with the day he returned home after a week in the country where he'd gone to  work on a commissioned portrait. Phryne, supposedly, hadn’t wanted him to go, and they’d fought, but his patron was well connected and the commission important to his career. On his way home, he’d stopped to buy her flowers, looking very much forward to their reunion, but when he opened the door, he realized she had gone.

It was heartbreaking and terribly romantic and a complete fabrication. It never happened. He never went anywhere and in all the time they’d been together no one had ever commissioned a thing from him.

“I was devastated,” he said, to Kurt’s sympathetically nodding head.

“So, she left? Without a word?” Kurt asked Rene.

Phryne was right there. Kurt could have just as easily asked her what had happened but apparently she was now entirely superfluous to the conversation.

Sitting there, as they talked about, but not to, her and hearing Rene’s ridiculous account of their time together, should have been infuriating, but it was strangely calming. It was like watching a play that was not very good, a little overwrought, and completely unattached from reality. This was not her life. Rene couldn’t hurt her anymore. He may still be an egomaniac and a bully but any hold he'd had on her was long gone.

She needed stop sitting silently while they steered the conversation. It was time to make Rene show his true colors and send him packing.

“Yes, I left, and I never looked back. You see, the truth is—” she began, but before she could get out another word, Rene spoke over her again.

“You see, Phryne was very young,” he explained, “jealous and insecure. I don’t think she was ready for the kind of lifelong commitment a love such as ours inspired.”

“You seem very sure of my mind and motivation, Rene,” she said.

“I know you, mon chat noir. Perhaps better than you know yourself.”

“So tell me, if your love for me was so great, why is it I haven’t heard from you until now? I’m easy enough to find.”

“That’s a good question,” Kurt said, “why didn’t you go after her?”

“At first I waited for her return. She’d left in a jealous rage before but it never lasted. Once I realized that, this time, she was truly gone, I stayed away out of respect. I did not wish to cause her any more pain, and I always believed—or at least hoped— that one day she would return to me on her own.”

“ _If you love something, set it free,"_ Kurt said.

It was all Phryne could do not to roll her eyes. Now she had two men she’d very much like to punch in the face.

“Then why come now?” Phryne asked.

“When I saw you on this show, speaking of your search for lasting love, I knew I had to remind you, before it was too late, that once you had such a love. We had such a love. And we could again.”

“I don’t need reminding of what we had. I remember clearly and it’s most definitely not what I’m looking for. I’m sorry, Rene. My answer is no.”

“You will never find with another what we had, mon amour. Come back to Paris, where you belong. Your friends miss you. I miss you. Come back the man and the city you love.You have stayed away too long.”

She wondered how long he’d been sitting on that speech. It was way over the top.

“What are you talking about, Rene? The only thing I’ve stayed away from is you. I’ve been back to Paris many times. I’d have thought Pierre might have mentioned it.”

“Pierre?” He said. The name turned his expression sour, as though he’d tasted something horribly bitter.

It was a look she knew well and it meant that he really didn't know. She hadn’t been sure until this moment if her surprise would truly be a surprise to him. This was almost going to be too easy in the end.

“Pierre Sarcelle. Your friend? And mine too. I was sitting for his class when we met. Don’t you remember?” She said, innocently.

“That hack? I haven’t spoken to him in years. What has he to do with anything?”

Now it was her turn to tell a little story, but this one was true.

“It was my first trip back, I think. About two years after I’d left you,” she said conversationally. “I was beyond thrilled to find Pierre enjoying such great success. No one deserved it more. He was always so talented. And kind. Of course I wanted to purchase one of his pieces but he suggested this instead, for old times sake. We had such fun making it! It's really grown in value but I would never sell it. I treasure it too much”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him stiffen as she began loosening the wrappings on the parcel. Its size and shape made it immediately recognizable as a painting.

“This...this is a Sarcelle?” He said, the words nearly choking him.

He stood and took a step back from the table as if the package might jump up and bite him. She stood too, to negate the height advantage. She didn’t want him looming over her when the moment arrived.

“I had it sent from home today. I knew we were going to be discussing my life in Paris and I thought some of my knights might like to see it. Perhaps you would as well?”

She pulled back the paper and then straightened to her full height. She turned to face him, looking him dead in the eye.

“It’s lovely, don’t you think?” She said, brightly.

 

* * *

 

Jack, along with everyone else, was watching with rapt attention. Phryne was clearly unhappy to see this Dubois person, but it was more than just displeasure.

I seemed to Jack that she was on edge. Tightly coiled and ready to flee at a moments notice. For someone who, in his experience, was always maddeningly in control, her jittery manner was concerning.

In addition to the nerves, she was surprisingly passive. Dubois sat imperiously beside her, puffed up and arrogant, while she seemed to shrink in his presence.

Jack had seen this dynamic before. The loud mouthed, often arrogant man and the silent, cowed woman. He hoped he was mistaken, but Phryne was behaving far too timidly for his liking.

The more he watched the more suspicious he became. The Phryne in this Frenchman’s story was unrecognizable. Jack supposed it was possible she’d changed through the years, but the more Dubois talked the harder it was to reconcile. Dubois described a Phryne that was irrationally jealous and possessive despite his faithful devotion. 

Jack had heard similar arguments before.

The dynamic between them was unmistakable. A woman sitting frozen in silent fear while her abuser, in an overly patient tone, informed anyone that would listen that she was not only wrong and irrational, but possibly a little crazy, too.

Jack felt his blood begin to boil. He didn't understand why the producers would allow her to be humiliated in this way. Couldn't they see what he was seeing?

Finally, Phryne seemed to come awake. Jack breathed a sigh of relief as she began to compose herself and become, again, the intelligent, self-assured woman he knew. He looked forward to seeing her unleash that razor sharp wit and charm of hers. To steal the scene back from this blowhard and send him on his way with his tail between his legs.

True to form she quickly had Dubois back on his heels. The more confident she appeared, the more agitated he became. It was exactly what Jack would expect from her, but as he watched it unfold, he felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to stand up.

She wasn’t exactly challenging Dubois, not directly anyway, but it was clear she knew which buttons to push.

Jack hoped she knew what she was doing. An abuser was never so dangerous as when they felt themselves losing control and this asshole was losing it fast.

Phryne bent toward something on the table. It was too far away for Jack to make out but whatever it was, it seemed to enrage Dubois. He watched the man’s posture go rigid, saw his fists clench.

It happened in a flash.

“Whore,” Dubois raged, as he lunged at Phryne, his hands going around her throat.

“Move!” Jack yelled, pushing past a cameraman and rushing the scene.

Phryne had been prepared for Rene’s rage but she hadn’t expected the physical attack, not in front of an audience. Caught off guard, she froze for a moment before instinct, and training, kicked in.

She brought her hands up between his arms and wrapped her fingers around the back of his head, pressing her thumbs into his eyes. He immediately released his stranglehold on her throat, grabbing her wrists to pull her hands away. She took a step closer to him, brought her right knee up, slamming it as hard as she could between his legs. Rene dropped like a rock and crumpled on the ground.

Jack came to a sliding stop, looking down at the man now writhing in pain. He hauled him to his feet, ignoring the anguished groans.

“Have you your cuffs handy, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hugh, who had been close behind him, efficiently secured the suspect.

“Imbécile! Who do you think you are?” Dubois bellowed, blinking his streaming eyes and struggling against his bonds.

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson and you’re under arrest.”

“Arrest? Me? Arrest her—the bitch assaulted me!”

“Take him to the station and book him in, Collins. I’ll follow shortly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hugh marched him off, ignoring the stream of obscenities Dubois shouted, most of them aimed at Phryne. With Dubois in good hands Jack turned to her.

“Are you all right?”

“I believe I am.”

She looked slightly disheveled and her eyes were misty but she appeared whole.

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. The words caught in her throat and she coughed, wincing with pain.

“You are hurt,” he said, a wave a fury surging through him.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, I can see the bruising coming up already.”

He could clearly see the ugly red marks blooming on her pale skin. Angry tears pricked at the back of his eyes as he fought to control his emotions. He was very glad Dubois was now in Hugh’s hands and out of his reach.

“I’m all right, Jack. Really, I am,” she said, softly, trying to reassure him.

He looked into her eyes and felt the ground fall out from under his feet. He dropped his head and took a step back, trying to slow his racing heart.

“You should be seen a doctor,” he said, sternly.

“There’s no need for that.”

“Like hell there isn’t!” Victoria came storming over. “I am so sorry, Phryne. We had no idea the man was violent!

She spun and aimed her anger at Kurt who, until then, everyone seemed to have forgotten was there. “What a useless lump you are!” She barked.

“I— it happened so fast!” Kurt whined.

“Well, it’s a damn good thing you were here, Inspector,” she said to Jack, turning her back scornfully on Kurt. “I hope you throw the book at Dubois!”

“He’ll be held and charged with assault. I’ll need to get Miss Fisher’s statement, but that can wait until I return. And until after she’s gotten care,” he said, with an unyielding look in Phryne’s direction.

“We have a doctor on call. I’ve already sent someone to fetch him,” Victoria said.

“I’ve had just about enough of people talking around me! I don’t need a doctor. I’m perfectly fine,” Phryne said, peevishly, before another coughing fit took her.

“You’re not fine. Can you do as you’re asked, Miss Fisher? Just this once? Please,” Jack implored.

She cleared her throat, swallowing hard, and when she spoke again her voice was soft, almost contrite.

“If it will ease everyone’s mind,” she said.

She looked only at him as she spoke and he wondered if it had been his ‘please’ that had reached her.

“Thank you,” he said.

“And thank you, Jack, for coming to my aid.”

“It didn’t look like you needed my help. You had things well in hand.”

His words had the desired effect and he was very glad to see her smile.

“Even so, I’m glad you’re here, Inspector.”

“So am I, Miss Fisher.”

“Come with me, Phryne. Let’s get you seen to,” Victoria said.

“I’ll need to speak to you as well when I return,” Jack told Victoria. “I want to know how that man came to be here.”

“Of course. I’m at your disposal,” Victoria groveled. She took hold of Phryne’s arm to lead her away but Phryne shook her off, preferring to walk unaided.

“Oh! Jack,” she said, turning back, “do me a favor and take care of that for me, will you? It really is quite valuable.”

Even slightly hoarse her voice held a whimsical and light-hearted tone. Her eyes sparkled as she cocked an eyebrow and nodded toward whatever it was that had set Dubois off. For the first time, Jack took a look at it.

It was a painting of a woman, naked and reclined on a velvet couch, her neck arched back, a riot of black curls tumbling from her head. The alabaster skin, elegant cheekbones and cupids bow lips made her instantly recognizable.

Jack followed the brush strokes as they lovingly caressed her body, from the swell of her breasts, with their pert nipples, to the tantalizing thatch of dark hair nestled between her thighs.

It wasn’t as though he’d never been affected by a work of art before but, as the subject of this painting was very clearly the same woman that had recently been invading his dreams, this work of art was affecting in a rather inappropriate way.

He blink and cleared his throat awkwardly. A huff of amusement made him look up to find Phryne still standing there, watching him.

“You’re blushing, Inspector.”

“I’m a grown man, Miss Fisher. I’m not likely to blush at the sight of a little bare flesh.”

He hurriedly wrapped the brown paper around the painting before picking it up and tucking it carefully under his arm

“If you say so,” Phryne said, her eyes dancing with mischief as she turned to follow Victoria.

Jack watched her go, feeling a little unsteady on his feet, as if he’d just got off a wild carnival ride.

This woman was likely to cause some man no end of grief but Jack had no doubt she'd be worth it.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes Phryne suspicions about her sister's case to his boss and makes some progress on the murder investigation as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between postings. I'm away from home with very spotty internet access. Got this one posted while I had a good connection. Forgive any typos!

“What are you doing, Jack? This isn’t your case.”

“It isn’t anyone’s case, Margo. I’m not sure it ever was. That’s the problem.”

“I agree that it was poorly investigated but we’re busy enough without dragging ten year old cases back to life.”

“You used to want to see this one through,” he said, a bit too self-righteously than was wise.

Margo glared at him. “Do you not have enough to do, Inspector? Because if memory serves there’s a murder you’ve yet to solve.”

“I’m not suggesting I take it on. I thought you could bring it to cold case division. I’m just asking you to give it a look. That’s all.”

He leaned over her desk and stabbed his finger at the other file folder he dropped in front of her. The one containing the information Phryne had given him.

She sighed and flipped it open, then started rummaging around on her desk, looking under papers and pulling open drawers.

“On your head,” Jack said.

“Thanks. I’m down to my last pair.”

Margo was forever losing her reading glasses. She’d purchased dozens. People would find them in the briefing room or the ladies’ toilet. At this point, no one bothered with lost and found, they just brought any they came across directly to her.

She pulled the pair from her head, wincing when a strand of hair caught in the hinge. Jack watched her struggle with it a bit before she gave up and yanked, taking the hair right out of her head. She rubbed at the spot of the pain, making her nest of hair even wilder.

Margo always looked slightly befuddled and disorganized, but looks were deceiving. She had one of the sharpest minds Jack had ever come across. There was no one he’d rather work under.

“Janey Fisher’s sister,” she said, mostly to herself, as she skimmed the first page.

“It’s why she’s really on the show.”

“That explains a lot. I’ve never been convinced she’s invested in the search. She’s good at faking it though.”

“You watch that show?” He said, incredulously.

She slid the glasses down her nose and peered at him.

“It’s my guilty pleasure. You got something to say about that, Robinson?”

“No, chief. Not a thing.”

She slapped the cover of the file closed, removed the glasses and dropped them on her desk where they were bound to be buried in a matter of minutes.

“All right. I’ll take a better look at this when I find the time.”

“Thanks, Margo. I owe you.”

“How’d you get this out of her anyway? Did she just volunteer the information?

“It came out in the course of my interviews with her,” he shrugged.

“And she asked for your help?”

“Not exactly. You’d mentioned the cases to me and I thought it worth looking into.”

“Mm-hmm. She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

“Come on, Margo, you know me better than that,” Jack protested.

“I thought I did, but it isn’t like you to ignore your own case to go chasing phantoms.”

“I'm not ignoring it! We found the murder weapon today!”

“But you’ve yet to establish motive or isolate a suspect.”

“I know you’re getting pressure, but that’s not fair. I’ve got no team to speak of and more suspects than on the Orient Express! And Poiret didn’t have to work around some pain in the ass television producer’s schedule.”

“Is she giving you trouble?”

“No, not really, but with cameras everywhere I have to be too damn careful about where I speak to people and what I say.”

“What do you mean? And sit down, for god’s sake! You’re driving me nuts with your pacing!”

Jack stopped and took a seat. He hadn’t even realized he was pacing. He was still a little wound up over the earlier events of the day.

“I’m just frustrated, Margo. And I worry that I’m giving the murderer a front row seat to my investigation. I don’t like operating this way.”

“I know it's not ideal. Have you been able to narrow down the suspect list at all?”

“Some,” he said.

He didn’t mention his theory that the murderer was among the crew. It would take too much explaining. He hadn’t told Margo about the footage he’d gotten from Phryne or that he’d let a civilian work with Hugh to sort through official case materials and while he didn’t like lying to his boss, in this case the less she knew the better. If it all blew up in his face she’d be clear of the blast

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Margo asked.

“Not at the moment. Thanks, though. Don’t mind me and my bad temper. Things will come together.”

“I know they will. Now, tell me about this guy you brought in today. He’s complaining about police brutality.”

“That’s bullshit. Collins was helping him from the car when Dubois tried to shake him off. He lost his balance and fell into the door.”

“You’re sure that’s all it was?”

“This is Hugh we’re talking about. And the nose isn’t even broken.”

It was late afternoon by the time Jack returned to the castle. He was tempted to go check on Phryne immediately but he needed to speak with Victoria first. When he didn’t find her in her office, he looked for around for someone to ask.

“Clara,” he said, calling out to the young sound technician. “I’m looking for Victoria. Is she still on set?”

“Let me find out for you, Inspector.”

She seemed a little afraid of him, which made him feel awful, so he tried to give her what he thought was a friendly smile. It didn’t seem to help much.

Unfortunately he couldn’t say anything to ease her mind because he still hadn’t been able to officially eliminate the her as a suspect. He hoped that eventually he would, but he didn’t think saying that would bring any comfort.

He waited patiently and after some back and forth on the com system, it was determined that Victoria was in the trailer the show used as a control room.

“It’s the one with the blue door. I’ve let them know you’re coming,” Clara said, “just knock when you get there and someone will let you in.”

“Is the control room always locked?”

“Yes. It’s keycard access only. It’s where the dailies are reviewed and not everyone is allowed to see those. Plus, we can’t risk a contestant wandering in.”

“The dailies?”

“The raw footage shot each day. It’s reviewed here on-site as the first step in the editing process.”

“Is the hidden camera footage included in the dailies?”

“I’m not sure how that’s handled. I think Mal usually goes through it to look for anything of interest.”

“Mal has quite a lot of authority doesn’t she? More so than the other associate producers.”

“Oh definitely. The only person who has been with the show longer is Victoria.”

“So, how many people have access to the control room?”

“Well, Victoria, of course. Plus Mal and the other associate producers—there are three of them in total. I think that’s it, but Victoria would know for sure.”

“That’s it? Just five people? What about you?”

“I’m not high enough on the totem pole.”

“Doesn’t that make it difficult to get the equipment you need?”

“The sound equipment is kept in a separate trailer.”

“I see,” Jack said.

Without even knowing it Clara may have just given him enough information to officially remove her from his suspect list, and winnowed down the rest of the pool as well.

“Thank you, Clara,” Jack said, his mood lifting.

Jack found both Victoria and Mal in the control room. They were watching what Jack assumed was the film of Phryne’s interview with Kurt from earlier in the day. He watched the screen for a moment. Something was different. It was the scarf. She hadn’t been wearing one before. So much for the improved mood.

“Come in, Inspector. What can I do for you?” Victoria said, muting the sound but letting the video play.

“Is this live?” He asked, pointing to the screen. “You put her back on camera? After what she went through?”

“Calm down! It was her idea,” Victoria said, holding her palms up as she could ward off his approaching anger.

“Turn it up,” he said.

 

> _“He didn’t hit me—well, he didn’t, until it he did—and that was the last straw for me, but he’d been verbally and emotionally abusive for a long time before that night.”_
> 
> _“Why did you stay?” Kurt asked._
> 
> _“That’s not a helpful question, Kurt,” Phryne said, shaking her head. “It’s asked far too often and it puts the blame in the wrong place.”_
> 
> _“I meant no offense.”_
> 
> _“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said gracefully, “but I’d rather talk about what we can do to help victims of abuse.”_
> 
> _“All right then. What can we do?”_
> 
> _“First, I think we need to dispel a few myths about who victims of domestic violence are. You expressed surprise earlier that this could happen to me. Why is that?”_
> 
> _“Well, because you’re smart and accomplished. You run a successful business,” he said._
> 
> _“And you think that should have made me immune?”_
> 
> _“I suppose so, but you were very young at the time.”_
> 
> _“I was, but that has little to do with anything. Domestic abuse occurs over all walks of life—women and men—all ages and economic levels, and too often it’s kept in the shadows because of the shame attached. We need to put that shame where it belongs. Instead of questioning the victim’s behavior, we should be condemning the abuse.”_
> 
> _“No one is trying to justify that type of behavior.”_
> 
> _“And yet you still asked me why I stayed which implies that I was the one to do something wrong.”_
> 
> _“Fair enough,” Kurt conceded._
> 
> _“I have a video I’d like to show now that was produced by an organization my foundation supports. It identifies the warning signs of an abusive relationship and has advice for how to get out safely if you find yourself in one.”_

The director could be heard off screen telling Kurt and Phryne to wrap it up, the video would be cut in later.

Kurt started banging on about how powerful the video was and how brave Phryne had been in telling her story. Victoria hit the mute button again, looking very put out.

“Excellent. Now we're making a goddam PSA. This is a real shit show, Mal, you know that,” she snapped.

“Whose idea was it to bring Dubois here? He claims the show contacted him,” Jack said.

“That’s true. It’s pretty standard procedure to do homework on our damsel’s past relationships. It helps us to shape the narrative,” Mal said.

“Interesting angle, bringing on such a brute,” Jack said, his sarcasm underlined by a simmering anger.

“That was not meant to happen! She didn’t say a word about any abuse when she agreed to meet with him. How were we to know?” Victoria said, defensively.

“Did you run a criminal background check? Of even bother with an internet search? Granted the articles are small, and in French newspapers, but my sergeant found them easily enough,” Jack said.

“Criminal?” Victoria repeated.

“The man has a record of assault.”

Victoria looked at Mal who seemed to be shrinking into her seat.

“I swear, Vic. I didn’t know,” Mal said.

“Did you vet the guy at all?”

“Clearly not as well as I should have. I’m so sorry. But, there wasn’t enough time! We had to replace the original damsel at the last minute—you know how pressed we were!”

“This is a fucking PR disaster,” Victoria said.

“That’s your concern? That the show will look bad?” Jack said.

“Look, I’m sick about this and I’d be first in line to cut the balls off that fuckwit. But I’m responsible for the hundreds of people that make this show, not to mention our investors. Fortunately, Phryne is fine and what’s done is done. I have to find a way to make what I can of it.”

“The show must go on,” Jack said disdainfully.

“Exactly.”

“And I thought my line of work was ugly.”

“No one wants to see how the sausage is made, Inspector, but they’re happy to eat it.”

"Profound," Jack snarled.

He asked Victoria to speak with him privately in her office. He’d cleared her of suspicion, but Mal’s alibi had been impossible to confirm and he didn’t want to discuss any aspects of the case in front of her.

“How many people have access to the control room?”

“Only me and my APs. Why?”

“So that’s five people? No one else would have had access?”

“Not unless I brought them in. Anyone else bringing in an unauthorized guest knows that’s grounds for dismissal.”

“Have you brought anyone else in?”

“A couple of studio execs. Why is this important?”

“It may not be, but I need to know everything about how this place operates. I know you watch the dailies here, is the hidden film footage reviewed as well?”

“The dailies? Look at you with your newly acquired lingo! You’re a quick learner, DI Robinson.”

“Just answer the questions, without the added sarcasm please.”

“The answer is yes. Anything filmed is reviewed exclusively in the control room. Nothing leaves there except what is sent on to editing.”

“Who decides what goes to editing?”

“I do.”

“By my estimation you have at least fourteen hidden cameras operating around this place. That’s a lot of raw footage for a woman with your responsibilities to sift through each day.”

“You’re right, which is why I don’t. Mal goes through that footage. If she sees something she thinks we can use, she’ll bring it to me.”

“She’s the only one that sees it?”

“She reviews it in the control room, so if anyone else is present when she does, they’ll see it too,” Victoria said.

Jack could tell she was trying to piece together the reasons behind his line of questioning. He wished he could be more obtuse because he didn’t really trust her but he needed answers and she was the only one to ask.

“Tell me how the hidden cameras operate.”

“They’re motion sensitive.”

“But you must have a way to manually operate them—to turn them on and off as you wish?”

“Sure, but we only turn off cameras we no longer need. For instance, if all the contestants from one of the rooms have been eliminated there’s no need to keep those cameras running.”

“But a camera in an occupied room should always be operating, is that right?”

“Yes. The point is to catch unscripted moments. There’d be no point in turning off the cameras.”

“I thought the whole show was unscripted.”

“Oh, so only you’re allowed to use sarcasm? Is that how this goes?”

“Police privilege.”

“Maybe if you’d explain what it is you hope to learn from all of this, I could be of more help.”

“You’re being helpful enough.”

“I don’t see how. All this talk of cameras and footage doesn’t seem useful. The cameras were always running in Chad’s room, but he was killed in the bathroom where there were none.”

If she was aware of the gaps in the footage from Chestler’s rooms, she was a very good liar, which Jack thought highly likely so he took her comment with the grain of salt it deserved.

“I’ll decide what’s useful and what is not. You only need to worry about answering my questions honestly and keeping what we discuss to yourself.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if I find you’ve lied to me, or shared any part of our discussions with anyone else, I will charge you with obstruction and witness tampering and anything else I can throw at you. Is that clear?”

“Why the hard line, Inspector? You just said yourself that I’ve been helpful.”

“Someone on this set is a murderer. Any rumors or speculation about the case could be dangerous. The killer might become desperate and do something to impede the investigation.”

“Such as?”

“I think it’s in both our interests not to find out.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne needs some time away from the spotlight and Jack provides it.

Victoria followed him out as he went to find Phryne. 

“You’re not going to upset her, are you?” She said protectively.

Jack thought that was rich coming from her.

“Miss Fisher has nothing to fear from me,” he said, “she’s the victim here.”

Victoria continued to follow until her phone rang and Jack took the opportunity to put some distance between them. He hoped for a few words alone with Phryne to determine for himself that she really was all right. He spotted her up ahead and caught her eye. As soon as she was free of her microphone, she approached him.

“You need my statement, I assume. Where would you like to do this?” She asked. She sounded exhausted.

“If you’re not feeling up to it, we can wait until morning,” he said.

“No. I’d like to get it over with.” She dropped her voice to nearly a whisper, “but, is there any chance we could find a spot away from the cameras? I’ve had about as much of them as I can take today.”

When he’d been watching her on screen she’d looked composed and self-assured but now he could see what this day had cost her. She wasn’t falling apart, but she’d clearly had a scare and rightly remained shaken. He wanted more than anything to pull her into his arms but, in addition to that being a horrible idea in their current location, he didn’t think she’d appreciate any expression of pity from him. One thing he could do though, was try to grant her request.

“I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, Miss Fisher. I need to conduct this interview at the station,” he said, using his most official DI Robinson voice.

“If you think that’s best, Inspector,” she said, brightening.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone look so happy to be told they were being taken in for questioning.

“Wait,” Victoria said, hurrying over, "you’re not planning to take her off set, are you?”

The woman had the ears of a bat.

“I am. I need to get her statement and official photographs of her injuries,” Jack replied.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. She only leaves for off-site shoots and is always accompanied by a camera. You’ll need to talk to her here. You know the rules.”

“Those rules apply to the murder investigation. This is a separate crime. Miss Fisher was the victim of an assault due to your negligence and she may wish to press charges. I need to get her statement away from any undue influence.”

“Press charges? Against the show?”

“She’d be within her rights. You brought a dangerous man on set and left her with him unprotected.”

“Now, wait a minute. I’ve explained this to you. We didn’t know he was dangerous.”

“So you say.”

“Victoria, please,” Phryne said wearily, “I don’t blame the show. Just let the man do his job and we’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’m sending a cameraman along.”

“No. You’re not. As I said, your rules don’t apply here.” He extended his hand for Phryne to step in front of him. “If you’ll come with me, Miss Fisher, my car is out front.”

“Don’t keep her long, Inspector and if her picture turns up in any tabloids I’ll have your badge!” Victoria said, “here, take these.”

She removed the large sunglasses she had on top of her head and thrust them at Phryne.

“I’ll be careful not to be seen,” Phryne promised, putting the glasses on and taking the scarf from around her neck to cover her head with it as she walked away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, once Jack had stepped up beside her.

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s get a move on before she realizes I’m full of shit,” he hissed.

He saw her lips curve up as she tried to hide her smile. It made him ridiculously happy.

After today, having seen her in harm’s way, he could no longer pretend this was a mild flirtation or passing attraction. In fact, it had been a long time since he could say he felt this strongly for a woman. It scared the hell out of him, but at the same time, it was thrilling.

He helped her up into his jeep and they didn’t say another word until they were well away from the security gates and he’d turned off from the main road.

“This doesn’t look like the way into town.”

“I can get your statement anywhere. Just thought you might need a break from that place and there’s a nice spot not far from here that I’ve passed on my rides. Unless you’d be more comfortable at the station? Around other people?”

“No. I’d much rather be out of doors and I’m not worried about being alone with you, Inspector. I know you’ll be nothing but chivalrous—unfortunately,” she said, with a hint of her usual spark.

He shot her a scolding look that he knew she wouldn’t take seriously, not that he meant her to. He wondered if she had any idea what her teasing innuendo did to him or how very much he’d like to be anything but chivalrous with her.

“Can you take the top off?”

“What?” He said, glancing at her in confusion.

“The top of the jeep. Can we take it off?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, hitting the brakes and reaching up to release the latches.

He got out to go around back to take down the rear window. She hopped out on her side and, following his instructions, helped to fold the top back and secure it behind the seats. She removed the scarf from her head and wrapped it more firmly around her neck.

As they started back down the road, Phryne dropped her head back against the seat and let the rush of the hot, late afternoon air ruffle her hair.

All day she’d felt the eyes of the crew members on her, watching her with a mix of curiosity and pity. She’d expected as much, and tried not to let it get to her, but when she’d seen Jack approaching, the thought that he might now think less of her was more painful than she cared to admit.

Now he would see her as a victim. Someone in need of his compassion. Clearly his maneuvering to get her away from the set was an act of pity. That stung, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind too much. She’d be forever grateful to him for giving her this respite, even if what he now knew about her spoiled any chance they’d had at— _at what exactly_ , she wondered.

She turned her head to look at him. His eyes were on the road, and if he noticed her staring, he didn’t let on.

He was a remarkably handsome man, though he looked a little out of place right now, wearing an impeccably tailored suit and tie, in a jeep with the top down, the wind whipping through his hair.

Somehow the juxtaposition made perfect sense to her. Jack took his work very seriously, but he didn’t take himself too seriously, and there was a cheeky side to him that wasn’t immediately obvious.

It hit her with a startling clarity just how much she liked him. Of all the things that would come of this latest brush with Rene, the loss of Jack’s good opinion might be what she’d regret most.

They pulled off the dirt road and he drove a ways into the brush. A very pretty little lake came into view and he stopped, parking the jeep in among some bushes where it wouldn’t be easily spotted. He grabbed a pad of paper from the glove box and reached behind his seat to pull out a blanket.

“I thought we could sit down under that big Moreton Bay Fig,” he said. Then he froze and turned to her with a strange expression on his face. “Is this weird? I don’t want you to think I’ve got anything—untoward—in mind."

“Why would I think that, Jack?”

She wished she could laugh. He could be so very proper at times. What she wouldn’t give for a little untoward behavior from him instead of this stiff propriety.

“Good. Good. It’s just a really nice spot and, well, I thought you’d like it. I’ll just get your statement and then you can have some time to relax.”

“Lead the way,” she said, feeling a little ill. He was so nervous and solicitous. Treating her like a china doll that was too delicate for this world. But it was a lovely place and she appreciated his thoughtfulness.

She kicked off her shoes. The grass was lush and soft beneath her feet. He found a good spot in the shade for the blanket and she took a seat, awaiting his interrogation.

“I just need your account of what happened earlier,” he said, so gently she thought her heart might break.

“Don’t you have it all on film?”

“We do, but the constabulary likes its paperwork.”

His smile was a wry one. He didn’t sit down. He just handed her the pad of paper and a pen, then leaned against the tree, waiting quietly while she wrote. Once she’d finished, he read her words back to her aloud.

It was a dispassionate and brief account of the attack. It stated simply that she’d been talking to the man when all of a sudden he flew at her in rage, and how her reaction, and any injury she’d caused, had been unintentional and strictly in self-defense.

“Okay. If you’ll just sign this,” he said, when he’d finished.

She scribbled her name at the bottom and he took the pad back and tucked it under his arm.

“Thanks,” he said.

“That’s it?” She asked, skeptically.

“That’s it.”

“You’re not going to ask about my past with him?”

“Not relevant.”

“Or why, knowing he was violent, I provoked him?”

“Did you provoke him? I must have missed that.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” she said, with a poignant glare. “Will he be charged?”

“There’s more than enough to recommend it. We’ve got the assault on tape and a dozen witnesses,” he said.

“He’ll still fight it,” she said.

“He’ll lose.”

“But he’ll get the pleasure of dragging me through the mud when the whole sordid story comes out in court.”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”

She raised one eyebrow. “Who do you think you’re kidding, Jack? You know as well as I do how this will be seen by the public. But I suppose it was going to get out anyway because of the show, and Rene will happy to have a chance to tell his side of it to the press.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t give him the chance.”

“I don’t see how I can stop him,” she said with resigned bitterness.

“You could decline to press charges. His visa will be revoked and he’ll be immediately made to leave the country.”

“You think I should let him get away with it?”

“He wouldn’t. Not really. What he did today has got him in plenty of trouble back home.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He was convicted for an assault not long ago. He received a suspended sentence because there were conflicting witness accounts but his attack on you will be seen as a violation and he’ll go to jail.”

“Who did he assault?”

“It was a bar fight. Well, not a fight, really. The victim said Dubois was yelling at a woman, and that when he tried to step in, Dubois went off on him.”

“Let me guess, Rene and this woman were romantically involved.”

“Yes, and Dubois claimed the other man was harassing his girlfriend and that he was simply defending her. The woman backed his story, but another witness testified that Dubois threw the first punch.”

“So, if he goes home he’ll go to jail because of me?” Phryne asked.

“Not because of you. For his own actions. He could get up to two years.”

“And if he goes on trial here what kind of sentence might he get?”

“Depends on how they decide to charge him. Common assault would carry a maximum penalty of 18 months. If they determine aggravating circumstances he could get up to 3 years.”

“Do you think I should press charges?”

“That’s not for me to say.”

“If I said I just wanted him gone would you think I’m taking the easy way out?”

“Who cares what I think? Or anyone else for that matter. You should do what’s right for you.”

Apparently that was all the opinion he was going to give her.

“I’m just going to go put this in the car,” he said, holding up the notepad.

When he returned he’d removed his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. He had a biscuit tin in one hand and a bottle in the other.

“These are from your Miss Williams. Hugh brought them with him this morning,” he said, setting the tin in front of her, “and this I brought back to have in my room but thought you could use one about now. Medicinally.”

He held the bottle out to her. She nodded and he removed the cap before handing it over.

“I don’t have any glasses with me.”

“This will do just fine,” she said, tipping the bottle back and pouring a generous amount down her throat. It wasn’t as good as the whisky she’d offered him that first night, but it settled in her belly well enough.

“Hugh also offered to return your painting to Dot for safe keeping. I hope that’s all right,” he said.

“That’s perfect. And very kind of him.”

“I think it was more about the opportunity to see her again,” Jack said.

“Really? That will make her happy. I think she’s grown rather fond of your sergeant.”

“That will make _him_ happy. He’s _very_ fond of her.”

“Tell him to be on his best behavior. If he hurts her I’ll come after him.”

“I wouldn't have thought you to be the mothering type.”

“Dot is very special to me.”

“Well, she could do a lot worse. Hugh’s a good man.”

"He'd better be.” She opened the tin—Dot’s coconut and chocolate chip biscuits! That woman was a godsend. “Sit down, Inspector and have a biscuit. They’re amazing.”

He didn’t need her to offer twice. He sat down on the other side of the blanket, snatched up a biscuit and took a large bite. His lips curved into a happy smile and he opened his eyes wide with surprise for a moment, before closing them and humming with pleasure.

She bit her lip. He looked like a little boy enjoying his favorite treat, but the hum, with its low, deep rumble, did something to her that reminded her, forcefully, that he was not a little boy. Far from it. She took another drink from the bottle and held it out to him. He tilted his head as if considering it before taking it from her hand.

“Maybe just a sip,” he said, with a grin. “I’ve got to get you back to that place in one piece."

The unease she’d feared had come between them seemed to have evaporated, or maybe she’d just imagined it. Either way, she felt herself starting to relax for the first time all day. Her only complaint now was that he was sitting a little too far away.

Since coming on the show, Phryne had gotten used to men sitting as close to her as opportunity allowed, invited or not. The producers encouraged physical closeness, in part because it was easier to film two people sitting side by side, but also because they wanted that image of intimacy. The illusion of budding romance.

With anyone else she’d have appreciated the respect for her boundaries, but right now she wouldn’t have minded a little closeness. She could use a shoulder to lean on and Jack’s shoulders were certainly broad enough.

Not that the view from her vantage point was unpleasant. He sat about a foot away and slightly in front—the well-fitted waistcoat emphasizing his trim waist and those broad shoulders. He leaned back on his hands, and his rolled up shirtsleeves revealed tanned and nicely muscled forearms.

She reached for the bottle again, taking another long pull, before capping it. It was best to keep her wits about her.

“Did you get a chance to look at that information I gave you about Renquist?” She asked, taking up another biscuit and trying to get her mind off the growing temptation to run her hand over the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“I did,” he said.

“And?”

“It’s very thorough. I brought it to my boss. She said she’d take a look, but I don’t want to get your hopes up.”

“You don’t think it will go anywhere?”

He turned his head to her.

“It’s hard to say. Even if Margo gets cold case interested, they may not assign an investigator unless they think there’s a good chance of bringing charges—and with a trail this cold it won’t be easy.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. What if I could help hurry things along?”

That got his notice and he shifted to turn his entire body toward hers, giving her his full attention.

“I hesitate to ask what you have in mind,” he said.

“I’m supposed to be evaluating these men as potential mates which leaves me perfectly positioned to talk with Warren about his past. I could arrange a one-on-one date with him and ask him about his time here as a student. Maybe he’ll mention something we can use.”

“Did you go around poking snakes as a child too?”

“Only the deadly ones. You worry too much, Inspector. It’s not like I’ll really be alone with him. We’ll be on camera the entire time."

“Yes, and we’ve all seen what a deterrent that is.”

“Point taken. In my defense, I really didn’t expect that level of anger from Rene.”

“But, you knew that painting would set him off,” he said.

“I knew it would anger him, but not to that extent.”

“What, exactly, was his issue? Did he just not like that you’re naked in it?”

His comment confirmed that he’d recognized her as the subject of the painting, but there was no accompanying blush this time. Apparently he’d gotten over the initial shock.

“It was more than that. Have you heard of Pierre Sarcelle? The man that painted it?”

“No. Is he famous?”

“In some circles, and growing more so everyday. That’s what bothered Rene. They had studied together and were friends once, but when Pierre started having some success, Rene couldn’t handle it.”

“Some friend.”

“Rene’s ego knows no bounds. No friendship could withstand it. He felt Pierre had undeservedly eclipsed his star but they’re not even in the same galaxy. Pierre was always the more talented of the two.”

Jack’s lip quirked up on one side at her snide remark but he made no comment.

“You think I’m just being bitter,” she said.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were.”

“I won’t say Rene has no talent but he’ll never be a great talent. Not unless he’s changed. He never could decide who he was as an artist. Always chasing fame rather than working on his craft.”

“The kind that wants it easy?”

“And thinks he deserves it. Rene thinks he deserves lots of things.”

“Like you.”

“It was more the control he wanted than me. I did it out of spite at first—seeking out Pierre when I went back,” Phryne mused aloud, “but in the end it wasn’t even about Rene. Making that painting helped me to take Paris back for myself—if that makes sense. And we had such fun, Pierre and I. I’ll never part with it.”

“It really is an incredible painting,” he said.

“Yes. I’m very glad it wasn’t damaged.”

“I’m very glad nothing was irreparably damaged.”

 _Here it comes_ , she thought. She braced herself for a scolding and the lingering questions she knew he must have. He turned to her with inquiring eyes.

“What did the doctor say?” he asked.

It wasn’t what she’d expected. “He says I’m fine.”

“So the scarf is just a fashion accessory?”

“You were right about the bruising,” she conceded, “but it’s not that bad and there isn’t much swelling, which is the main point. Make-up will cover the marks. It was just a little too tender for that today.”

She unwrapped the scarf from her neck to show him.

She’d read books that described someone’s eyes as ‘suddenly stormy’ and right now she knew precisely what that meant. His jaw clenched but when he reached out his hand, and ran his fingers over the marks on her throat, his touch was incredibly gentle.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him to touch her this way. There was an intimacy between them that had been unexpected, and a little unsettling for how quickly and effortlessly it had formed. It was what she’d feared would be lost and she had to swallow down a lump in her throat at the realization that it wasn’t lost and might even have grown stronger.

“Does it still hurt?” He asked.

“Not much.”

“You scared me today,” he said, his voice full of emotion.

“I really am all right, Jack.”

“I know. You were amazing,” he said, with a small smile, “you _are_ amazing.”

His fingers continued trailing along her throat leaving a palpable heat behind and the deep, husky quality of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

His hand came to rest at the base of her throat, stroking gently along her collarbone. She was sure he could feel the way her pulse jumped frantically. He met her eyes tentatively, as if seeking some kind of sign. He must have found it.

“Phryne.”

His hand slid around her neck and up into her hair to cradle her skull. He drew nearer, his eyes always on hers, then stopped with just a hair’s breadth between them, waiting for her to close the gap. Her eyes fluttered shut as she surged forward to press her lips to his.

His response was swift. Eager, yet somehow hesitant, still taking his cues from her. When she wrapped her arms around his neck to pull herself closer, all reticence left him. His hand came around her waist, splaying across her back and drawing her tighter to him. It was all she could do not to climb into his lap and eat him alive.

When they finally parted, she kept her eyes closed for a moment, savoring his taste on her tongue. The man could kiss.

He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed, heavily.

“That was a loaded sigh, Inspector.”

“It was a loaded kiss, Miss Fisher.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

“And probably ill advised.”

That was disappointing but not unexpected. He’d already made clear that he thought acting on the obvious attraction between them was a bad idea, but they were on the verge of something that she didn’t want to let slip away. She hoped a bit of light-hearted teasing might bring him out of his own head.

“What are you so worried about Inspector? Are you afraid I might fall in love with you?”

“I think I’m more afraid you won’t.”

“Oh.” She sat back, blinking at him stupidly.

“Sorry if that was too direct. I don’t see much point in playing games.”

He’d all but said he was falling for her. Normally that would have her running for the hills, especially this early on. Her heart was certainly beating faster. She waited for the following anxiety and the usual instinct to let him down easy. It didn’t come.

“I haven’t felt this way in a long time, Phryne, but I don’t want to scare you,” he said, “I’m not saying that after a couple of kisses I’m planning to pledge my undying love to you.”

“No? I must be losing my touch.”

He huffed out a laugh and reached over to take hold of her hand.

“For the record, Jack. It’s not too direct—and I can’t even remember the last time I felt like this.”

“You do realize the timing couldn’t be worse,” he said.

“I assume you mean our separate investigations?”

“Not to mention your quest to choose a husband. That last one really puts a damper on any plans I might have.”

“Funny, Jack. You’re very funny.”

“It’s a little known part of my charm.”

“So, if the timing were better, and I wasn’t on the road to matrimony, what then?” She asked.

“Under normal circumstances I’d probably ask you out on a date. In fact, under normal circumstances I’d have asked you out the day I met you.”

“I didn’t think I’d impressed you that day.”

“You did.”

“So, what would this date of ours look like?”

“I don’t know, the usual first date stuff. We could start with dinner at one of my favorite places and then see where the night took us.”

“Is that the best you can do? What about dancing? Would you take me dancing?”

She climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs and looping her hands around his neck.

“You want to go dancing, Miss Fisher?” He settled his hands on her hips and looked up at her with smiling eyes, “what’ll it be? Salsa? Swing? You don’t strike me as a line dancing kind of gal.”

“I’m not picky, as long as it’s slow and close.”

“I think I could handle that,” he said, sliding his hands up and down her sides.

“So, ask me out, Inspector.”

“Didn’t I just explain why I can’t?” His eyes dropped to her lips and she felt his hands tighten at her waist. “At least not until I solve this murder.”

“I’m not a terribly patient person, Jack.”

She undid a few buttons on his shirt and slipped a hand inside. His skin was warm and his chest firm, with just a smattering of hair for her to toy with. 

He shook his head at her. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Do you really want me to?” She asked.

His usually enigmatic grin was not so hard to read this time and she felt her pulse quickening further.

“I think we need to get this murder solved, and fast,” she said.

“We?”

“Yes. You’re getting my help whether you like it or not. I’ve got a real stake in the game now.”

She wove her hands up into his hair, pulled his head back and planted her lips firmly on his, effectively stopping any argument he might have been thinking to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Rene's situation could actually be resolved in the way I've provided. I wasn't really interested in researching Australian and French criminal laws, I just wanted the guy gone!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne and Jack's interlude continues while some new scheming begins on set.

“The show airs tomorrow and this episode is a mess!”

Mal was expecting a bit of a tirade. They’d just watched the first edit and to say it was disjointed was an understatement. There had been too much to cover in the time allowed.

The murder had to be handled delicately and then the whole Dubois debacle had only muddied things further. Worse still, there was very little romance or intrigue to be found.

The previous episode had Cato emerging as the unrivaled lead for Phryne’s heart, and there’d been no opportunity to counter that impression. Any hopes that Dubois might prove a contender for her hand were well and truly dashed.

“We spend far too much time on the murder and that policeman has to be the dullest ever! Is that the best you could get from him?” Victoria complained.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And we’re right back where we started as far as our shortage of men is concerned.” Victoria’s disapproval was penetrating.

“I know you were hoping Dubois would hang around a bit longer. ”

“Longer than five minutes? Yes. Yes I was. We spent all that money bringing him and putting him up in a hotel. The whole point was to introduce a new challenger and it was a complete bust.”

“That was unfortunate, but if nothing else the incident made Robinson look more lively. The way he flew to Phryne’s rescue was kind of exciting, don’t you think? Like a knight in shining armor.”

Mal let her words hang in the air. It was good to let Victoria think an idea was her own once in awhile. It didn’t take long before Mal could see the lightbulb go on in her head.

“Do we still have that footage of their tete-a-tete by the gazebo the other morning?” Victoria asked.

“Jack and Phryne? We should. Why?” She asked innocently.

“It might seem a little desperate but maybe we should consider using Robinson as a romantic rival. He’s good looking enough if we can spice up the personality a bit.”

“It's not desperate. It's a good idea, Vic,” Mal said, thoughtfully, “It would certainly humanize him, but aren’t you worried it might make him look compromised? Regarding the murder investigation?”

“Couldn’t care less. Do we have enough footage of them together to spin it?”

“Well, she stepped up to help him when he was struggling with his intro scene. That was kind of sweet.”

“I’d prefer hot to sweet but I’ll take what I can get at this point.”

“I look for anything else we have and see what I can stitch together.”

“Do it,” Victoria ordered. “Damn. Now I’m kicking myself for letting them get away without a crew this afternoon. Although, how hot can a police interrogation be?”

  

* * *

 

 

She had fisted her hands in his hair and kissed him with an intensity that, quite literally, stole his breath, and possibly a bit of his mind along with it.

She was seated in his lap, her legs wrapped around his back, and despite the fact that her lips were still firmly attached to his, her hands were working independently, and efficiently, on the buttons of his shirt.

Where his waistcoat had got to, Jack had no idea, and couldn’t bother to care. Then she shifted in his lap, and the precarious nature of his situation dawned—along with a few stars.

He gripped her hips and gently nudged her back a few inches. Her hands had reached his trousers and showed no signs of stopping. He cleared his throat and touched her wrists to get her attention.

“That water is looking inviting right about now,” he said.

She looked up at him blinking. Her pupils were blown and her chest heaved with the effort to draw air. She glanced over her shoulder at the lake.

“Looks cold,” she said, sounding a little confused by the shift in focus.

“God, I hope so,” he said, desperately.

She barked out a laugh. “Oh, it’s like that is it?”

She seemed to take pity on him and removed herself from his lap, turning to face the water.

“It’s pretty remote here. I’m game if you are,” she said, giving him a sly grin.

“I was kidding about the swim, Phryne. I didn’t bring my bathers.”

“Like I said, it’s remote here.”

She stood and started removing her clothes, her eyes daring him to follow her lead. So much for pity. This was doing nothing to help him recover his dignity, but the baser part of his brain was enjoying her striptease too much to object.

He couldn’t quite believe this was happening. He hadn’t intended to kiss her. Hadn’t intended to even touch her, but those bruises on her neck had ripped him open and before he knew it, he was reaching out.

How they’d got from there to here, where she was casually disrobing not three feet away while he hurried to catch up, he might never clearly recall.

She tossed her bra aside and shimmied out of her panties, pausing just long enough to give him a good look, before turning toward the lake. The view was no less arousing from the back.

A few swift strides and she was at the edge. She dipped in a toe to assess the temperature, then waded in and executed a graceful, shallow dive into deeper water.

His own approach was less elegant. She was floating on her back, her eyes closed, and he just watched her for a bit. She looked more relaxed and peaceful than he'd ever seen her.

When he drew closer, she turned and glided over to him, winding her hands around his neck and swinging her body close. The rush of water against his skin was replaced by her solid warmth. He grasped her hips and planted his feet on the lake bottom to steady them. The water reached to his chest.

He let his hands slip easily over her back, pressing her closer. The goosebumps erupting on his skin had little to do with the drop in temperature. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling herself up and he watched the water lap gently at her breasts.

He couldn’t resist bending to take a firm nipple between his lips, smiling as she arched back and sighed.

He traveled up from her breast, sprinkling kisses along the way, his lips barely brushing over her tender throat, until he found her mouth again. He thought he could very quickly become addicted to this. The way she fit so neatly against him. The way she tasted, and the highly intoxicating properties of her kiss.

Before long he was right back in his earlier predicament.

“I need you to know that I didn’t intend this,” he said, pulling back to look her in the eye.

“Do you hear me complaining, Jack?”

“This wasn’t all some scheme to seduce you.”

“I never thought it was. Besides, I think it could be argued that I’ve done most of the seducing here.”

He smiled at her and pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

“Are you implying I need to step up my game, Miss Fisher?”

“Not necessarily. I don’t mind taking the lead, Inspector.”

Her hand was on his ass, the firm grip communicating a confidence and command that excited him almost beyond reason.

“And I’d happily let you but—”

“Is there a but, Jack?” Her hands loosened thier hold and her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Have I misread this?”

“Not at all! But, like I said, this wasn’t the plan. I’m not _prepared_ , Phryne,” he said significantly.

She moved herself against him. “You feel prepared enough to me.”

“I mean a different kind of unprepared,” he said, laughing. “I don’t have any condoms. That’s what I’m trying, very ineloquently, to say.”

“Oh! Of course. I should have thought of that. Sorry, my brain isn’t getting its full share of blood at the moment.”

“I know the feeling.”

“That does change things, Jack, but it’s not an insurmountable problem—no pun intended. I’m sure that we can come up with some mutually satisfying solutions.”

“I’m game if you are,” he said, mimicking her early phrasing.

“Race you back to shore?”

* * *

 

She’d been watching him for several minutes now.

He was stretched out on the blanket looking very peaceful. He was obviously comfortable in his own skin, which was a trait she found powerfully attractive. He had his hands behind his head and she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. 

She spread her palm over his chest to see if she could feel his heart beating. His eyes didn’t open, but he hummed happily at her touch, and covered her hand with one of his, turning her to mush all over again.

What on earth was happening to her? First, she’d gone all gooey over a kiss and now she was gazing at him like a lovesick cow.

She hadn’t let herself think about it before, but the way Mal had nearly salivated at the prospect that she might actually care for Jack came roaring back now.

“How long have we been out here?”

“Not sure. Why?” He asked, a bit sleepily. His hand dropped down onto her hip, not exactly pinning her in place, but gently discouraging her from rising.

“I was just thinking that we don’t want anyone to question how long we’ve been away,” she said.

“We’ve got some time before that happens.”

He rolled to his side, looking at her with bedroom eyes. His hand roamed a bit, from her hip, to her thigh and back up to rest on her her ribcage, his thumb rubbing the underside of her breast.

His hands were large and a bit calloused, but his touch was very tender and somehow already familiar to her.

It was little ironic, she supposed. The whole world was watching her pretend to fall in love where she had no intention to, and then, he’d appeared. It was terrible timing and she’d be damned if she’d let the public in on this. This was theirs, and theirs alone.

She traced her fingertips along his magnificent jaw line.

“Don’t let your guard down, Jack. They’ll be looking for ways to use you.”

“I’ll do my best to keep the adoring gazes to a minimum.” He gazed at her, adoringly.

“That is exactly what I’m afraid of!” She said, bolting upright and pointing at his face.

“I’m joking!” He laughed.

“I think we need to avoid each other altogether on set. We shouldn’t even be seen talking.”

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

He sat up. His hair was thoroughly tousled, his lips a bit swollen still, and she felt her core begin throb again.

“No. I don’t think it’s extreme. I think it’s necessary,” she said, steeling her determination.

She looked around for her shirt and pulled it over her head. He reached for her hand, grabbing hold.

“Phryne? Why the sudden panic? Are you having second thoughts?”

“No! Of course not. But we have to be careful. You said yourself any hint at scandal would risk your investigation, not to mention your reputation.”

“You’re not a scandal.”

“You know what I mean!” Her anxiety was growing the more she thought about what he was walking into. “Where are my knickers?” She fretted.

He stood and retrieved them from where she’d dropped them in the grass.

“Don’t you think you might be overreacting slightly?”

“I’m not overreacting. I’m being pragmatic. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“And I appreciate that but you’d warned me of the risks. I knew what I was getting into.”

“You didn’t have all the information. I should have told you before.”

“Told me what?”

“With Chad gone the show is short a knight. That’s why they brought Rene here—to make up the numbers. When I balked at letting him come, Mal gave me a choice. Either Rene filled the gap or—you did.”

“Me?”

“They wanted me to flirt with you while they secretly filmed what they hoped would look like a budding romance, or at least an infatuation on your part.”

“Huh. Was my attraction to you that obvious?”

“Mal’s shrewd and it hardly mattered if you were attracted to me or not. You’re here and you’re gorgeous and they’d make of it what they could.”

“You think I’m gorgeous?” He smiled, puffing up a bit.

“Is Detective Inspector Robinson in there anywhere?” She said in exasperation, “because ‘Jack’ is not taking this seriously enough!”

“I’ll tell you what I take seriously. The idea that you would allow that thug near you again in some ill advised attempt to protect me. I can take care of myself, Phryne.”

“And I can handle Rene. He was my problem. I wasn’t about to let them ruin you just to avoid some personal unpleasantness,” she shot back.

“Unpleasantness? He tried to kill you! If you’d told me what was going on I could have kept him from coming here!”

“Oh, so you’re allowed to protect me but I can’t look out for you? Is that how this works?”

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Is this our first fight? Are we having our first fight already?”

“I’m used to taking care of myself, Jack. I’ve been doing it successfully for a long time. I’m not looking for someone to rescue me.”

“And I’m not looking for someone to save,” he said.

“No? Then what was this?” She said. “Wasn’t bringing me here a bit of a rescue?”

“That’s not fair. I wasn’t trying to rescue you. I just—”

“What? You just—what?”

“You’d had such a shit day. I just wanted to give you a break. I wanted to do something nice for you.” He wrung his hands, looking nervous and embarrassed. “I wanted to make you happy.”

That took the wind from her sails. She turned away from him to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

She felt him step up behind her. He placed a tentative hand on her waist and she leaned back against him, sighing as his arms closed around her.

“Phryne, I know you can take care of yourself. But so can I, and I don’t like that you put yourself in harm’s way for me.”

“I didn’t think I was doing that, Jack. Not really. I never imagined he’d be violent in front of an audience.”

“But you were afraid of him. I could see that. He’d been violent before, hadn’t he.”

“Not in the beginning.”

“They never are.”

“I left after the first time he raised a hand to me. I should have left sooner.”

“You don’t need to explain yourself.”

He held her a little tighter. She turned to face him, wrapping her hands around his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest.

“You don’t ever need to explain yourself to me,” he said “and I’ll do my best not to ride to your rescue but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to help you when I can. Just like you tried to help me. It kind of comes with the territory when you care for someone. Doesn’t it?”

She nodded.

He was right. She’d told herself that Rene was her problem to face but, had she not cared so much for Jack, she might have taken the easier way out.

This was going to take some getting used to.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have others she cared for, or that cared for her. At this very minute she had a team of people working behind the scenes, but with the exception of Mac, the members of that team were also her employees.

She thought of them as friends first, but the fact that she paid them did alter the dynamic in some ways. They could offer advice, even disapprove of some of her choices, but ultimately she called the shots.

It wouldn’t be that way with Jack. Caring from him the way she did meant taking him into consideration.

“You did help me. Bringing me here today helped. Being with you helped,” she said.

“I’m glad.”

He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. He looked just as besotted as she felt. She wanted to pull him down on top of her and drown in him.

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Jack. Rene didn’t fill the role they wanted him to. When we get back to the set, no one can know that anything has happened between us.”

“I get it,” he said.

“And, we should get back soon.”

“There’s no hurry. With traffic this time of day we’ve got at least another forty minutes. Getting back earlier would look more suspicious.”

“Alright.” She gave him a peck on the lips and spun out of his arms. “But get dressed please. You’re far too distracting.”

“I was kind of hoping you’d get undressed again,” he smirked.

“That would result in our being very, _very_ , noticeably late.”

She went about setting herself to rights, doing her best to keep from looking at him, standing there in the sunlight, with his hands on his hips, like her very own Adonis.

Eventually he followed her lead—for the most part. He put his trousers on but ignored the rest of his wardrobe, saying it was too bloody hot.

The sun had shifted, so he repositioned the blanket and she sat back down leaning against a large root. She removed a hairbrush, small mirror and lipstick from her bag and started fixing her face.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s new with your case. I hear you found the murder weapon,” she said, conversationally.

“Really? You want to talk about the murder?”

“I told you, I have a vested interest in seeing it solved.”

She patted the blanket next to her. He lay down and laid his head in her lap.

“I suppose if I have to work, this is a better place than most.”

“The boss doesn’t cradle you and run her hands through your hair at the station?”

“She does, but Margo’s office is rather grim. No windows.”

She dug her fingernails into his scalp. He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing her palm then moving on to her wrist and further up her arm.

“The case, Jack,” she reminded him.

“Right, but I’m keeping this,” he said, maintaining his hold on her hand. “What can you tell me about the Associate Producers?”

“In addition to Mal, there are three others. Aisha, Chloe and Andy.”

“I know that. I was hoping for a bit more insight.”

“If you’d tell me what you want to know I might be more helpful.”

“My best lead is the gap in footage from the victim’s room. Only Victoria and the APs have access to camera operations so they’re my most likely suspects. Can you think of a reason one of them might have wanted the camera in Chestler’s room off?”

“My first guess would be for the same reason everyone else tries to avoid the cameras. Sex.”

“You think one of the AP’s was having a love affair with the victim?”

“I’d be surprised if love had anything to do with it.”

“I thought fraternization between cast and crew was against the rules.”

“It is, officially. But it happens,” she shrugged. “Everyone figures out how to evade the cameras. Some better than others. One of the knights was having it on in the make-up trailer with an intern. Not a bad plan, since there are no cameras in there, but they got sloppy and were found out.”

“What happened?”

“She was fired and I had to eliminate him, which was disappointing. I liked him.”

“What kind of idiot, in with a chance, risks it for a quick shag?"

“I didn't like him that way! He was a good laugh. My point is, people are always hooking up outside of camera range and it’d be even easier for someone that could actually control the cameras.”

“Does anyone spring to mind as the more likely?”

“It must have a been a purely physical thing,” she said, twirling a lock of his hair around her finger. “Chad was nice to look at but he was a vile human being. The person least likely to be bothered by that would be Victoria, but I’ll eat my hat if it was her.”

“You don’t have a hat, and she has a solid alibi for the murder, but why not her?”

“Because she wouldn’t go to him. She’d have him sent to her. There are no cameras in her office. She wouldn’t need to bother with the subterfuge.”

“Good point. As to his vile personality—isn’t it possible he hid it? He fooled Clara before.”

“If it’s an AP, they’d have already known he was an arse. He was cast to be a divisive character. The beauty that was really a beast.”

“Then maybe it’s just someone who is a glutton for punishment. You never saw any hints of a connection with anyone?”

“No. But I wasn’t looking either. Chad was not my focus.”

“This doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere,” Jack complained.

“Maybe it wasn’t about the sex. What if it was about what Chad could do for them? He had loads of money and connections in the industry.”

“You think someone might have been getting close to him in the hopes he could advance their career?"

“It’s highly likely, but not terribly helpful. They’re all ambitious and equally without scruples.”

 “We can at least eliminate one of them.”

“You mean Andy? Why, Jack? Because he’s a man?” She shook her head, smiling at his naivety.

“Is he gay?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“But, we know Chestler wasn’t. He wouldn't have come on this show if he were.”

“I’ve no idea what Chad’s inclinations were, but if we’re talking about sex as a commodity, I’m not sure it matters.”

“This is all just rampant speculation. We’re still just guessing at the reason for the gaps in footage and for all I know I’m putting too much stake in them to begin with. I’m grasping at straws, Phryne. I’ve got nothing.”

He sat up, clearly frustrated. She got on her knees and draped herself across his back, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“We're just getting started," she soothed. "What about the murder weapon?”

“No prints, as expected.”

“Then there’s all the more reason for me to talk with Warren. He spent the most time with Chad, and if Chad was screwing someone, he wasn’t likely to have kept it to himself.”

“I’ve already interviewed Renquist. If he knew anything he should have told me then.”

“He might be hanging on to the knowledge to see if he can use it to his advantage.”

“Is there anyone in that place that is not scheming and hiding things? I expect a certain amount of evasion during an investigation but this is nuts! Everyone is acting like a suspect.”

“They all have their own agenda and don’t really care about finding justice for Chad. He alienated nearly everyone. But, I know what makes these people tick and if Warren knows anything I can get it out of him. Let me try.”

“Could I stop you?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” He turned to face her. “You’ll be careful?”

She cupped his face in her hands. “Of course.”

“I can’t work with a partner that lies to me, Miss Fisher,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“It’s not a lie! But perhaps we have different definitions of what it means to be careful. Do you trust me, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

Jack instructed her in a couple of handy interrogation techniques and she did a little role playing with him to help put him at ease. Too soon, the time came to head back.

They stopped the jeep as they neared the security gate to put the top up. Phryne wrapped the scarf over her head again and Jack buttoned up his waistcoat. Between it and his suit jacket the wrinkles to his shirt were well hidden. He pulled his tie from his pocket, and looked at it, frowning.

“I suppose someone will notice if I skip this,” he said, pouting like a child objecting to having to dress for church.

She took it from his hand and leaned closer, lifting his collar and looping the silk around his neck. He kept his hands to himself but she could feel his eyes hot on her as she knotted it into the Full Windsor she’d noticed he preferred.

“Am I presentable now?” He asked, softly, as she slipped the tie beneath his waistcoat and gave it a pat.

She was tempted to leave him as is, because he looked delicious, but it was far too obvious how much her hands had enjoyed running through that glorious head of hair.

“Almost. Though you could do with a comb, Inspector,” she said, digging into her bag for her hairbrush.

He checked his reflection in the rear view mirror, patting at his hair, trying to flatten and tame it.

“Forget it. It’s a lost cause at this point. I’ll just leave the windows down.”

He leaned over and kissed her one last time, then gave her a look that nearly melted her in her seat.

She wasn’t sure what should concern her more in this moment—how far gone she was, or how little it bothered her.

“Are you ready, Miss Fisher?”

“Not remotely, but that’s never stopped me before, Inspector.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't going exactly to Mal's plan but she's nothing if not adaptable. Jack and Phryne return to the castle and are confronted by her latest scheming plot.

“I think the best bit is when he rushes in to save her,” Mal said.

“But she already had it under control and he’s really just doing his job there, isn’t he?” Victoria said. She sounded unimpressed.

“I suppose, but what about the stuff by the gazebo?”

“Yes, what about that? What’s with the overly romantic music?”

“Well, there was no dialogue. I had to add something.”

“It’s too much. The whole thing is heavy handed.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s too obvious! You’re forcing the idea of them as a couple. Trying too hard to make the audience see it and ship it.”

“That’s what you told me to do!”

“I wanted him poised as a romantic rival. I wanted you to plant the seed, not grow the whole damn tree, chop it down and beat the audience over the head with it!”

“You said I should find enough footage to spin them as a couple. That’s what I did.”

“It needs to be more subtle. You need to cut half of this and lose the cheesy music.”

“Then we’ll need something else to round out tomorrow’s show and we’re running out of time. I suppose I can pull some of Kurt’s interviews with the guys for filler,” Mal said, knowing that idea would be shot down. Given no feasible alternative, Victoria would have to go with what Mal had prepared.

“No more interviews! We’ve already got Phryne sitting down with Kurt twice and then there’s that boring video. What we need is intrigue. Something to make people want to come back next week.”

“That’s what my montage was supposed to be,” Mal said, impatiently, “the hint of a new love interest for Phryne. The audience will definitely come back for more of that.”

“But you don’t hint, Mal. You insist—and what you’re doing is so obvious you’ll put Robinson on guard, or worse, get him pulled off the case. Then we’ll be right back where we started.”

“Maybe the next guy they send will be even hotter,” Mal offered.

“Not funny. Robinson’s a hard ass, but he’s smart, for a cop, and he’s been relatively cooperative. I’m not willing to take a chance on what they send next. Besides, if we anger them they may just shut us down for the duration.”

“So, what do you suggest?”

“Play that bit by the pool again. She really perks up when he walks by, doesn’t she?” Victoria said.

“That’s what I’ve been saying. She likes him. And he doesn’t seem to mind her flirting one bit,” Mal said.

“Lyle looks annoyed.”

“Lyle always looks annoyed.”

“Yes, but he’s given me an idea. Who’s handling yoga boy?”

“Cato? Aisha’s handling him. Why?”

“He’s getting a little cocky.”

“So is she. She thinks her boy’s a lock for the win.”

“She’s wrong,” Victoria said. “That’s lust, or possibly boredom.”

“Well, it’s the most interest Phryne’s shown in anyone and Cato’s pretty sure of himself.”

“Make him less sure. Have Aisha convince him that there’s something going on between Phryne and Robinson.”

“You’re thinking he’ll be jealous? His whole thing is live and let live—very zen.”

“No man is that zen. He’s strutting around like the cock of the walk. Knock him down a peg.”

“How does this help with the upcoming episode? We’re still short.”

“Must I do everything? Plant a camera on him, rile him up and get him to confront her.”

“You want to force a confrontation?”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to make her blow. She’s had a horrific day.”

“But there isn’t enough time to film it and get it polished enough to go to air tomorrow!”

“You’ll find a way. You always do.” Victoria turned on her heels and went into her office, shutting the door behind her.

Mal closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, reciting the mantra she’d picked up from a YouTube video on meditation.

She’d been with the show five years now and each season was a grind, but this one was really taking its toll.

The knights had all been selected with the previously contracted damsel in mind. None of them was an obvious fit for Phryne, but Mal had trusted she could make it work. Phryne had seemed enthusiastic when she came on board and the men were good looking enough. She only had to get Phryne to fall in love with one of them. Whether or not they stayed in love wasn’t her concern.

But Phryne had not been easy to manipulate and quite early on Mal had realized that she had no real interest in the proceedings. She clearly preferred some men to others, but showed no inclination to find her happy ending with any of them. Mal couldn’t figure out why the woman was even here.

Eventually she had given up on trying to control the outcome. She’d settled into a pattern of letting Phryne run things her way, while doing just enough behind the scenes to keep her boss appeased. They were making an entertaining show, ratings were high and, though she liked to gripe, Victoria was happy. That was enough.

There’d been perks as well. Mal had more free time then ever before and had even begun to consider a future beyond the show as a real possibility. Then suddenly everything had turned upside down and she’d come crashing back to earth.

When Victoria pulled a rabbit out of the hat and saved them from cancellation, it became an imperative to regain control of the narrative.

Having allowed Phryne so much headway, clawing back control was challenging, especially with a new presence on set that Mal had been unable to get a read on. Robinson was a wild card. He held too much power and it was clear to Mal that he and Phryne were forming some sort of alliance.

She needed him gone, or at the very least, compromised. For a hot second she considered going ahead with the montage behind Vic’s back, but concluded that wouldn’t be prudent.

Vic wasn’t perfect, but the older woman had given Mal her start and been her earliest champion. For better or worse, Mal’s wagon was hitched to Victoria’s star and if the show failed, Victoria might survive, but Mal was done.

She needed Vic on her side. She might be ruthless, but when Vic was on your side, she was also fiercely loyal. She knew what it was to be a woman fighting for a seat at the table in this industry and she used her success to bring other women along. It wasn’t a coincidence that three out of four AP’s were female.

She’d fought for Mal before and she’d do it again, as long as she believed they were a team. Now, more than ever, keeping Victoria happy was Mal’s best hope for a life beyond _Happy Ever After._

 

* * *

 

As soon as the castle came into view Jack noticed the cameras and lights. He could also see a man by the front entrance, deep in conversation with a young woman. The man’s head snapped up as the jeep approached.

By all rights he should look ridiculous in the cropped linen pants, flowing tunic and leather sandals. It was most likely the shows idea to make him such a stereotype, but to his credit, Cato wore it with confidence. Jack could understand Phryne’s attraction.

“Your admirer awaits, Miss Fisher,” he said.

It didn’t come out as breezily as he’d intended and her expression spoke for her. Jealousy was not a good look on him.

“Sorry. Poor joke,” he mumbled.

“Yes,” she said, rolling her eyes. He felt provisionally forgiven.

When he pulled to a stop, she hopped out quickly, without another word. Cato immediately moved in her direction but was held back by the woman he’d been talking to, his handler, Aisha.

Jack hurriedly threw the car into gear, cursing his stupidity. They’d clearly driven into a trap and he shouldn’t have stopped the car. He should have gone past all of this and not let Phryne out until he’d reached his designated parking spot.

But odds were they’d thought of that too, and had cameras waiting there as well.

“Jack! Can you hold up a minute?” Mal was approaching. A wide, friendly smile on her face.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. If the smile and her use of his first name wasn’t enough to put him on guard, the camera following behind her did the trick.

He leaned on his elbow, partway out the open window. He could see another member of the crew bringing Phryne back toward them. Her eyes flashed a warning as they briefly met his.

“We want to get your approach again, but this time I’d like you both to exit the car together,” Mal said.

“Why?” he said, putting every ounce of the irritation he felt into that one, small word.

Mal held up a finger and turned away from him, speaking into her walkie-talkie.

“Can we get someone from make-up here? Bring some hair product. And be quick about it, we’re losing the light.”

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Whatever you want, the answer is no. It’s been a long day and I have calls to make.”

“It’ll just take ten minutes.”

“I don’t have the time.”

He’d have driven away then, but one of the cameramen had positioned himself in front of the vehicle leaving him no way to move forward without running the man down. Jack briefly considered it.

“Look, I know it’s an imposition but we’re short footage for the next episode,” Mal said apologetically.

“How is that my problem?”

“You did make our damsel unavailable for several hours today.”

"Because of your negligence in bringing that man here, for which I’ve already been more than inconvenienced. I’ve lost a whole day off the Chestler case.”

“Five minutes, Jack. Please. Victoria wants a shot of Phryne returning. For continuity. You just need to back up a few feet, drive up again, help Phryne from the car and escort her to the door. Easy-Peasy.”

“What is the point of that?” Phryne said, speaking up. “I don’t need help from the car.”

“Of course not. ‘Help’ was the wrong word. We just want him to come around and get the door for you. Like a gentleman.”

“To what purpose? To make me look like a wounded bird?” Phryne said, angrily. “Forget it. I have never in my life sat in a car and waited for a man to open the door for me and I’m not going to start now.”

A make-up technician had arrived and stood hovering uncertainly nearby. Mal seemed to be trying to come up with a new argument. Jack didn’t gave her the time.

“Looks like we’re done here. Can you clear my path, please?” He put the car in gear and nudged it forward. The cameraman took the hint and stepped aside.

As he drove away he heard Phryne’s voice, cold as ice.

“I’ve had about all I can take today, Mal.”

She sounded in a right foul temper and he wished her could hang around to see how this played out but he really did have work to do. He’d neglected his job for the entire afternoon—not that he had any regrets.

He parked the car, nodding to the lone cameraman lurking nearby, and headed for his rooms by way of the courtyard to avoid having to pass the crew at the entrance again. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he went, noticing that he’d missed several calls.

Two were from Hugh. He hoped Dubois wasn’t still causing trouble, but whatever Hugh wanted, it would have to wait. Jack needed to return the call from Margo first.

* * *

 

“Is this really necessary? I’m beyond tired, Mal,” Phryne said, irritably swatting away the make-up tech as she drew near with her brushes at the ready.

With Jack’s refusal to cooperate Mal knew she wasn’t going to get the footage she’d hoped for but she was determined to get something. And it had to happen now.

Aisha had done a good job with Cato and Mal was impressed. It wasn’t easy to shake the teetotaling free spirit’s mellow facade, but a heart-to-heart conversation, along with a shared joint of high quality weed, had helped stoke a particularly paranoid jealousy. The man was primed for a confrontation.

Mal had hoped that confrontation would include Robinson, if only to catch the reaction on his face. Phryne’s reaction alone was not as desirable, but it would have to do. Mal knew her well enough to know she’d not appreciate any hint of possessiveness, and in her current, frazzled mood, things could get explosive.

“All right,” Mal said. “You’re tired and upset and I don’t blame you. You’ve had a rough day.”

“You think?”

“I’ll smooth things with Victoria. You go on to bed. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Phryne said, trying to keep the suspicion from her voice.

Mal was giving up too easily and Cato’s presence on scene had not escaped Phryne’s notice. Aisha was speaking to him in hushed tones but Phryne couldn’t help but feel a chill at the way his eyes kept darting to her. Then she witnessed a silent communication between Mal and Aisha and steeled herself for whatever was to come.

Mal turned away and began loudly shutting down the crew and sending them on their way, but Phryne had no doubt there was still a camera on her.

As she approached the entrance, Aisha faded away and Cato came to greet her.

“I’m glad to see you back. Can I walk you to your room?” He asked.

“Of course.”

She let him put an arm around her shoulder and she wrapped her arm about his waist. He felt stiff, and strung as tight as a bow. His usual benign and cheerful manner was gone and he was very clearly under the influence of something. She could see it in his eyes.

“Are you all right, sweetheart?” He asked.

The term of endearment felt forced and his hand was gripping her shoulder a bit too tightly.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said.

“You were gone a long time.”

"The police needed to speak to me.”

“After all you’d been through I’d have thought that could wait.”

“Inspector Robinson offered to wait. I wanted it over with.”

“And is it over with? Or will you need to spend even more time with that man?”

“I expect we’ll all need to spend more time with him. Seeing as he’s investigating Chad’s murder,” she said, hoping she was wrong about where this was heading.

“The man has hardly spoken to me, but by my accounts he’s spent several hours with you,” Cato said. His tone was tight and accusing, his manner petulant.

The whipsaw of emotions she’d experienced today had her edging toward a loss of control and the last thing she needed right now was a jealous man tossing accusations at her.

“What are you getting at?” She stopped them in their tracks and pulled out from under his arm.

She assumed they were being followed at a distance by a camera and they’d surely set off the motion sensitive one in the hallway, but it couldn’t be helped. Besides, if Victoria wanted a show, she’d give her a show.

“I’m just pointing out how much time you’ve been spending with that cop. That’s all,” Cato said.

“It’s hardly been by choice!”

“You just admitted it was your choice. You said he was willing to wait. Was it your choice to leave the castle, too? Why couldn’t he have questioned you here?”

“How would I know? I’m not an expert on police procedure, he said we needed to go to the station. Who was I to argue?”

“I heard you looked pretty happy to be leaving. Some people think you like spending time alone with him.”

“Some people? What about you? What do you think, Cato?”

“It seems me that you’re spending quite a lot of time alone with him and you don’t seem to mind.That day I found him in your rooms you said you’d invited him there.”

“Yes. I invited him there to interview me about Chad, and then he left, and I invited you in—or have you forgotten that part? As for today, maybe I was happy to get out of this place for a minute, can you blame me? It’s been a hell of a day,” she said emotionally, bringing her hand to flutter near her throat and blinking away a tear.

“I’m sorry,” he back-pedaled. “I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just, I really care for you Phryne.”

“And I care for you, but I told you where I stood from the beginning. Don’t start thinking that just because we made a connection, you now have some kind of proprietary hold on me.”

“But what is a connection if not a hold on each other?” He put his hands on her hips and pulled her to him. “Let’s go to your room. We need some time alone together.”

There’d been a time, quite recently, when being this near to him would have been exciting. She had liked him very much and he’d done some amazing things to her body. She looked into his eyes now to see if it was still there. To see if she could still feel that frisson, that pull.

She didn’t.

She’d keep her own counsel as to whether it was her growing feelings for Jack, or Cato’s annoyingly possessive behavior that had changed things. Either way, he no longer called to her.

“Cato, please. I can’t do this right now. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Phryne said, losing her patience, “I can see now I’ve made a mistake with you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten so involved. I’ve been unfair to the others. To Lyle and Reggie and Warren. I need to take a step back.”

“From me?”

“Yes. You’re too attached and I need to give the other men more of my attention.”

“You don’t mean that! This has nothing to do with the others. It’s that cop. He’s the reason for this.”

“In a way, you’re right. Your ridiculous jealousy of him has shown me a side of you that I don’t like. I thought we were friends, Cato, and I could have used a friend tonight. Instead I feel attacked all over again. I’ll see myself to my room.”

She walked quickly away and to his credit, Cato had the decency not to follow. At least now she knew for certain what the game was. Mal had no intention of honoring the bargain she’d made. They were going ahead with what she’d hoped to avoid by facing Rene. They were going to make Jack a pawn in their game and pit him against the other men.

Cato hadn’t come to those ideas on his own. Someone had planted the thought of Jack as a romantic rival and now she’d lost Cato as one of the few allies she had in this place.

She imagined there was footage too, something showing her and Jack together that would support the hidden romance storyline. Footage that would no doubt air on national television as soon as tomorrow night and when it did, she’d likely lose Jack as well.

She shut her door behind her and stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

All her efforts to control things, all the negotiating and compromising had accomplished nothing. She was nowhere near implicating Warren in her sister’s death and now, after the Rene debacle, the world would know the secret she’d been keeping for years. She’d put her life on hold, risked her own safety and it had all been for nothing.

 _No. Not nothing_ , she thought. It had been beyond time to let that secret go. She’d held onto the shame for far too long. A shame that was never hers.

And she wasn’t done with Warren yet. She’d find a way to bring his deeds to light and she had Jack on her side. Victoria and Mal might have plans for him that would ruin what had begun between them this afternoon, but she knew it wouldn’t stop him from helping her. And that was not nothing.

When she’d told Cato she’d needed a friend she’d felt Jack beside her, just as he’d been this afternoon.

He’d seen that she was struggling and taken steps to help, taking her away from the prying eyes and the pressure, if only or a few hours. He’d had a job to do, which he’d managed with efficient compassion and without judgement or the offering of advice, and then he’d quietly sat by her side, giving her space to breathe and just be.

What had come next had been as unexpected as his friendship and understanding. She didn’t want to lose any of it. She didn’t want to lose him. She closed her eyes and recalled the feeling of his arms wrapped around her waist and his solid form at her back.

Everything was clearer to her now. Rene had been her problem and she’d been right to try to keep Jack out of it but it had been more than that. She’d been protecting him. They’d been protecting each other since the day they met, because, as he’d said, it comes with the territory.

She stepped into the room in range of one of the cameras. She stared directly at the spot where she knew one was hidden, her lips curling up into a defiant sneer. She hoped Mal or Victoria was watching. She had a message to send.

The days of even pretending to play by their rules were over. All bets were off. If they thought she’d been a thorn in their side before, they really weren’t going to like what was coming next.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne worries about her friends at home and their reaction to the upcoming Rene episode, Jack tries to convince Margo to reopen Janey's case, and Mal schemes to get the audience behind a Phryne and Jack romance.

Phryne turned on the taps to fill the bath. She needed to make a phone call, texting wouldn’t cut it this time, and she hoped the closed door and running water would be enough to mask any sound from the microphones in the next room.

Mac’s schedule at the hospital meant she wasn’t always able to pick up the phone, but Phryne knew that when she saw who was calling, she would answer unless she was elbow deep in a patient.

It only took two rings.

“Why are you calling? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mac, but I need to tell you something. Do you have a minute?”

“Let me get somewhere quiet.”

Phryne heard a bit of commotion and then a door closing before Mac came back on the line.

“I’m alone. What is it?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Phryne said, “but something’s going to happen on the show tomorrow and I need you to talk to Dot before it airs. I don’t know how much they’ll show but whatever they do will be spun for dramatics and I need her to know that I’m not hurt.”

“You’re not hurt? You’re scaring me, Phryne. What’s happened.”

“They found Rene.”

Mac was the only person in the world Phryne had told about Rene and even then she’d left some of the worst bits out.

“Your Rene?”

“Please don’t call him that.”

“How about ‘that bastard,’ is that better?” Mac joked.

“Much.” Phryne smiled. Mac was always good at cutting the tension.

“Now, what do you mean by they found him?”

“They found him and they brought him here. He was here today.” Had that only been this morning? So much had happened since then.

“He’s on the show? Why?”

“To make a scene, which he did. And, it might look pretty bad. I don’t know if they’ll show the attack but if they do, don’t worry, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“He attacked you?” Mac was clearly trying to control her alarm.

“Attacked is a strong word,” Phryne prevaricated, “there was a scuffle, but I’m all right. That’s the important thing.”

“Why was he even there?”

“It’s a long story and I’ll tell you all of it someday, but I don’t have time now. I just wanted you to know that I’m all right and ask you to talk to Dot. Tell her what I’ve told you about my past with Rene. I’d rather she learn it from you than the show. And make sure she doesn’t worry about me.”

“What about me? Am I allowed to be worried? Because I am, Phryne. Where is he now?”

“He’s gone. Jack—Inspector Robinson— took care of it.”

“The police got involved?”

“Yes. Rene was arrested.”

“Then it must have been bad. What aren’t you telling me?”

The tub was almost full. She’d have to turn the water off soon.

“I’ve told you everything important. I’m fine. And I have to get off the phone now. Will you talk to Dot for me?”

“Of course,” Mac said, clearly unsatisfied. “I’ll call her now and make arrangements to stop by on my way home. I think this is best discussed in person.”

“Thanks Mac. You’re the best.”

“Yes. I am, and you don’t deserve me. Will you please get the hell out of that place?”

“I’m working on it.”

Phryne set the phone down, turned off the tap and swirled her hand through the warm water. It would be a crime to waste it. She stripped her clothes off and stepped in, settling herself against the back of the tub, closing her eyes, and letting the heat seep into her bones.

She needed this time to relax and get her head together. Mac would take care of Dot, which was a relief. Worrying about her friends back home was a luxury Phryne couldn’t afford right now.

She’d been a little surprised to have not heard from her assistant. She’d assumed Dot’s new paramour, Hugh Collins, would have already informed her of the incident with Rene. Doing so would have been a breach of Phryne’s privacy, but she’d hardly have blamed the man. Dot would have his head for keeping it from her.

But Dot hadn’t contacted her, which meant she didn’t know. It gave Phryne a new respect for Hugh Collins and confirmed what Jack had said about his sergeant being a good man.

_Jack._

She sat up, her eyes flying open. She needed to warn him of what was coming.

 

* * *

 

Victoria was happy. “Oh, he looks like a right wanker, doesn’t he?” She cackled.

“He doesn’t look good,” Mal agreed.

“What kind of ass-hat hassles a woman after she’s been attacked by her abusive ex and spent the rest of the day answering questions about it?”

“I wish we could’ve gotten Robinson in the mix. Did you notice she never directly contradicts Cato’s suspicions? She never says he’s wrong, she just tells him she doesn’t like his jealousy.”

“Yes. It would have been nice to see the two of them together trying to deny the attraction. But this isn’t bad,” Victoria said. “What was that bit about Robinson being in her rooms? I never saw that.”

“I couldn’t find any footage. It must have been right after he got here. While the cameras were off.”

“Sounds like she used that moment of privacy to her advantage. Do you think that’s when she and yoga boy did the deed?”

“No doubt.”

“And we missed it. Damn.”

“Doesn’t matter. It would never have happened on camera. She’s too smart for that.”

“Where did our loser go to lick his wounds?”

Mal pulled up footage of Cato out by the pool, brooding in a lounge chair.

“This sad sack look is a good one on him. Make sure some of this goes to air. His fans will all want to comfort him.”

“Got it,” Mal said.

“What’s his story, anyway? Does he really like her, or is this a pride thing?” Victoria asked.

“Not sure. I never pegged him as a good fit for her but he played the game right. I think he had a good read on her from the beginning. He was never pushy or overly eager. He was friendly but not so much that she’d relegate him to the friend zone. And he appealed to her more animal nature, flaunting his body and a casual sexuality whenever possible. Phryne thought he was a kindred spirit.”

“But, you didn’t think he was serious about her?”

“Or her him. I thought it was a fling for them both. They have very different lifestyles. But, maybe Phryne’s just so good in the sack he lost his mind and turned into a green-eyed monster.”

“The audience likes him, don’t they?”

“Yes. He’s a fan fave.”

“We’ll need to redeem him then. Make sure she gives him a second chance, but keep the heat on the Robinson theory. Who is Cato closest to? Get him a friend to talk to. Right now, while it’s all still fresh in his mind.”

“He’s closest to Reggie, but Reggie will talk him down. I’ll send Lyle. Lyle can always be trusted to accelerate a grievance.”

“Great. Get it done.”

It would take all night, but if Mal could put together a package that told the story of Phryne and Jack well enough, while pitting at least two of the knights against the policeman, she’d consider it time well spent.

Next, she had to get the audience on board with Phryne and Jack’s romance. To help things along she had already begun preparing social media posts for the several fake online identities she managed. She’d even come up with a hashtag to get this ship afloat. She planned to launch it as soon as the episode aired.

 

* * *

 

“I got your message,” Jack said, when she picked up.

“If you don’t want her, I think I might,” Margo replied.

“Who?”

“Phryne Fisher. I could use someone like her on my team. She’s very thorough.”

“You read the file.”

“I did.”

“I told you she was on to something.”

“Yes. But, Jack—it’s not enough to reopen and you know that.”

“I don’t know that. She puts Renquist at or near all three incidents!”

“All based solely on witness accounts. Some of them are solid, but others are nothing more than someone remembering a guy with an American accent. And they were all at places where a lot of drinking was going on. A good defense attorney will tear them to shreds.”

“It’s not supposed to be the whole case, Margo, but it should be enough to kick some life into it.”

“I took a lot of heat back in the day for trying to pursue these cases. I’m not sure there’s enough here to make me want to go there again,” she said.

“I know. And I shouldn’t ask you to stick your neck out.”

“But you are asking.”

“I guess I am.”

“She must really be something.”

He didn’t even try to contradict her.

“What if she’s right about this guy?" he said. "Where’s the harm in digging a little deeper? Hasn’t justice been delayed long enough for those girls?”

“You’re laying it on a little thick now, Jack.”

“Maybe, but we’ve got a limited amount of time here. She’s been keeping him around but soon enough the show will end and he’ll go back to America.”

“The witness accounts were barely reliable at the time they were taken,” Margo argued. “Every one of them would have to be re-interviewed now and I doubt their memories will have fared well, if they can even be found.”

“Isn’t this what Cold Case is for? Digging into the old files and doing the legwork when new evidence comes to light?”

“They’re choosy down there. They like cases they can close. Cases that turn on new technology that wasn’t available before. Like advancements in DNA. If we had a reason to get the man’s DNA we could compare it to what’s in the files. Even fingerprints might help but, right now, we don’t have reason enough to collect anything from Renquist.”

Jack knew it wouldn’t matter in Janey’s case, Phryne had already tried that route, but there were still the other two cases.

“What if I could get you something? Say he tosses a piece of chewing gum in the trash. That’s free and clear, right?”

“Right. But you’ve got another case to solve and I can’t believe you have time to follow the man around waiting for him give you something we can use.”

“I’ve got help,” he said.

“I thought as much. Be careful, Jack. She has her own agenda.”

“She’s not using me. At least not any more than I’m allowing her to,” he said, making Margo laugh.

“I didn’t realize you were such a sucker for a pretty face.”

“Sure you did. I go out of my way to make you happy all the time, don’t I?”

“Have you even seen me succumb to flattery, Inspector?”

“Never, Chief.”

“And you won’t see it now.”

“Fair enough. How about instead I get something from Renquist that you can use?”

“Not so fast. What’s my reason supposed to be for running tests on closed cases?”

“Let’s worry about that when we come to it, yeah?”

He could hear her thinking, considering it, and tugging at her already unruly hair the way she did when she was conflicted. He knew she was leaning his way, she just needed a little push.

“I’ll get you more, Margo. I’ll get you something solid. And I won’t ask you to do anything else until I do.”

“Don’t forget you have a murder case too. I don’t care how wonderful she is, or how much you want to help her, that has to be your priority.”

“I can do both.”

“I sure as hell hope so. Because you’re going to do this whether I approve or not. If you pull this off, I’m a genius and if it blows up in your face—well, I don’t want to think about what happens then.”

“I won’t let you down. Thank you, Margo.”

“Don’t thank me, Jack. Make me look good.”

Jack hung up the phone and his first thought was to try to contact Phryne. He had the number for her illicit cell phone and wanted to tell her about his conversation with Margo, but her admonishment rang in his ears. The Chestler case was his priority and he’d neglected it enough for one day.

He listened to Hugh’s messages. The first was just letting Jack know that the security cameras outside the station proved Hugh’s version of the events that led to Dubois injuries, so that issue was thankfully put to bed. The second message just asked Jack to call him to discuss the murder case.

Half an hour later, Jack signed off from Hugh. His case file was spread out on the desk with notes scribbled under names to include the new information Collins had supplied.

Hugh had spoken with all the previously eliminated suspects. There was little chance any of them had killed Chestler, sneaking back on the set was near impossible, but there was always the chance they knew something that would prove helpful.

Jack had been particularly interested in hearing what Chestler’s former bunkmate had to say. According to Phryne there’d been no love lost between the men, and the film Jack had seen bore that out, but hearing things firsthand was always the best route.

He was contemplating the significance of the roommate's statement when a sound from outside nearly made him jump out of his skin. He spun in his seat, his heart pounding.

A figure, dressed in black, was balancing precariously on the little Juliet balcony just outside his second story window. Jack reached for his gun.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack discovers who is at his window. (At this point I think he's the only one that doesn't already know.)

She tapped on the glass.

“Phryne? What the hell!”

He put the safety back on and returned the gun to the desk drawer before hurrying to the window.

“May I come in?” She asked, as though this was a perfectly normal mode of entrance.

Jack opened the window fully and grabbed her arm to help her through.

“How did you get up here?”

“My window is just below yours.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I climbed, obviously. That trellis is quite sturdy.”

“What if you were seen?”

“There are no cameras on this side of the building. And I waited until dark. I’m not crazy, Jack.”

“I’m beginning to think that’s debatable.”

He looked her up and down and stifled a laugh. She was dressed head to toe in black. She had on wide legged trouser, the material looked fine—silk, perhaps—and her cropped jacket was velvet.

“You’re a shoo-in for best dressed at this year’s cat burglar convention,” he said. “Nice hat.”

“It’s a beret,” she said haughtily, snatching it off her head and tossing it on a chair. “I need to talk to you.”

“Just talk? Well, that’s disappointing,” he said, “I was hoping you’d scaled the walls to ravage me.”

“The night is young,” she said with a sly smile, “but first you should know that Mal isn’t honoring her part of our bargain.”

“I thought as much when we got back,” he said. "I'm not worried. All she has is us driving in together.”

“I’m pretty sure they have other footage. The cameras are always rolling Jack. Who knows what they’ve picked up.”

“What is there to pick up? We’ve only spoken a few times since they restarted filming. I may have looked a little smitten but who could blame me that?”

“But, they could use anything! We don’t even have been in the same place or speaking to each other. They can cut film together to make it look like whatever they want it to. They’ve already said, or shown, something to Cato that has him convinced.”

“Convinced of what?”

“That there’s something going on between us—or at least that I want there to be. But my biggest worry is that I’m afraid I made a mistake tonight. One that was caught on camera.”

“What happened?”

“Cato was suspicious of my being gone so long today. In the course of the conversation I may have mentioned you saying we needed to go to the station for my statement.”

“And we didn’t go to the station,” he said, stating the problem.

“We didn’t. But, it must be a big, busy station. Would anyone even notice we weren’t there?”

“I doubt it. Except maybe for Margo.”

“Do you think she’ll see the show?”

“She’ll see it. She’s a fan.”

“Your boss watches _Happy Ever After_?”

“Regularly. Is there any chance they won’t use your conversation?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. They went to the trouble of winding Cato up so I’m sure they’ll use part of it, but maybe not all of it.They’ve got us returning together. It’s more salacious if they don’t explain where we’ve been and just let the audience fill in the blanks.”

“Margo will want to fill in the blanks as well.”

“What will you tell her?”

“The truth. Or a version of it, anyway. I needed to get you somewhere you felt comfortable enough to speak freely but didn’t bring you to the station for fear you’d be recognized. She’ll understand.”

“I should never have put you in this situation to begin with,” she said.

“You didn’t. It was my decision to take you away and I knew the risks,” he said. He took her hands in his. “I’d do it again. I don’t have any regrets. Do you?”

“That depends on what it ends up costing you.”

“Whatever it costs, it was worth it.”

She smiled at him, shaking her head.

“You’re an idiot, Jack Robinson.”

She leaned closer, rolled up onto her toes and kissed him, so softly that when she pulled away he had to swallow a large lump in this throat.

“They can’t do this to you, Jack. I won’t let this stand,” she said, fiercely. “I won’t let them ruin you.”

“No one is ruining anyone. We’ll just have to be more careful moving forward. Which includes not taking risks like sneaking into each other’s rooms.”

“I’m tired of playing it their way. They act like we’re not real people with real lives. They forget, or don’t care, that we’re not actors. We don’t go home at the end of the day. The things they do have consequences and so far, none of those consequences have been to them. That’s going to change.”

“What are you planning?” He had that uncomfortable roiling in the pit of his stomach that seemed to be occurring more frequently since meeting her.

“I don’t know yet. All I know is that I’m angry and I want to burn this place to the ground. Metaphorically speaking.”

“Glad you added that last bit. If I had to arrest you for arson it’d put a damper on that date I’m hoping to take you on when this is all through.”

“I’m serious, Jack.”

“I’ve no doubt, but I don’t think you should waste your time on them. We’ve got more important fish to fry. I spoke to Margo today. She read your file on Renquist.”

“And?”

“She was impressed but she said we need more.”

“That’s not a surprise,” Phryne said, “will she help?”

“She wants to. She’s giving me some leeway to keep digging. She’s thinks our best chance would be to find some DNA evidence.”

“I’ve already tried that.”

“Only for your sister’s case. There are two others.”

“True,” she said, thoughtfully.

“If we could get him on one, or both of the other girls, but not your sister, how would you feel about that?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she said, “I want justice for all the girls but I really want to make him acknowledge what he did to Janey. I want him to pay.”

“Then let’s hope we can get him on all three. How did you get his DNA the first time?”

“The first time I saved a paper cup he’d drunk from but that sample was tainted. The second time I took some of his hair.”

“How’d you manage that.”

“He has nice hair. I made a point of commenting on it and then began running my hands through it on occasion until I had a good sample. Then I bribed a crew member to smuggle everything out.”

“Do you think you could do it again? Get more hair, or anything else we could use?”

“I’m sure I can.”

“Good, but be careful and I’ll keep my eyes open for an opportunity too.”

She walked over to the desk, glancing down at the papers strewn over the top and started shuffling through them. “Making any progress?”

“Maybe. Collins spoke to Chestler’s former bunkmate today.”

“Arthur? How is he?”

“I didn’t inquire after his well-being, but his statement might reinforce your theory that Chestler was having clandestine meetings with someone.”

“Clandestine meetings!” She mocked, laughing at him. “You mean sex, Jack? Why don’t you just call a spade a spade.”

He blushed.

“I’m just being accurate. We don’t really know what was happening when the cameras were off, you just assumed it was about sex.”

“What else would it be about?”

“Arthur said Chestler often complained about how the show wasn’t turning out to be the stepping stone he’d hoped it would be, partly because he thought it was being poorly managed.”

“Yes. He was always saying he could run things better than Victoria, given the chance,” Phryne said. “Though I think his idea of better simply meant giving himself more airtime.”

“Well, something changed. He went from complaining to nearly gloating about how soon enough he’d be calling the shots.”

“On _Happy Ever After_? He was gunning for Victoria’s job?”

“No, Arthur had the impression it was something else. Something Chestler thought would be a bigger success than this show.”

“He may have been working with someone on another hit show? That’s what you think the clandestine meetings were about?”

“Possibly. But there may have been some sex involved as well,” Jack said, sheepishly, “Chestler had hinted at that. Rather crudely, I might add.”

“So I was right!” She crowed.

“Yes,” Jack grudgingly acknowledged.

“Did Arthur have any idea who Chad was meeting with?”

“No. But, based on Chestler’s rather explicit comments, it was a woman, so Andy is off the hook.”

“The noose tightens! You’ll be making an arrest any day now, Jack.”

“If I’m even on the right track,” he said.

“What does your gut say?”

“That I am.”

“Then trust it.”

“I don’t have much choice. I’ve got nothing else. But my gut isn’t enough. I’m going to need physical evidence to get a conviction.”

“Or a confession.”

“That doesn’t happen as often as crime stories would have you believe.”

“But when it does—what makes someone confess?”

“Often, it’s guilt. The murder was never intended and the perpetrator can’t live with it. But that’s probably not going to happen here. The death may not have been pre-planned, but I’m not seeing signs of gnawing guilt in anyone around here.”

“All the more reason to suspect one of the Associate Producers. There are few people here with a weaker moral compass, but of them all, my money is on Mal.”

“Any concrete reason for that, or is it just because you don’t like her?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll put my bias aside and look at this dispassionately. Does she have an alibi?”

“More or less. She was all over the set, as usual. There may be gaps where no one can strictly confirm having seen her, but no one was marking the time. It’s more a general sense that she was around.”

“Not ironclad. What of the other two?”

“Chloe and Aisha alibi each other. They claim to have been together taking a smoke break behind one of the trailers.”

“They could be lying, I suppose, but I can’t imagine why either would risk that for the other. And Victoria’s alibi checks out?”

“Yes, she was having dinner with a couple of network executives and their wives. All of whom have corroborated, and the restaurant confirms it as well.”

“Then that just leave Mal, with a hole in her alibi big enough to drive a truck through,” Phryne said.

“Yes.”

“You’d already landed on her, hadn’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, “but opportunity is not enough. What’s her motive? I thought she was Victoria’s protégée. What could Chestler offer her that Victoria can’t?”

“Mal and Victoria have an odd relationship. The dynamic seems to shift between boss/subordinate, best friends and mother/daughter. I think Victoria encourages the bad behavior and Mal craves her approval enough to push the limits of what is right. At the same time, she resents the control Victoria has over her and is remorseful about some of her actions—after the fact. I heard she quits at the end of every season, but she always comes back,” Phryne said.

“So, if she was looking for a more permanent way out from under Victoria’s thumb, she might have thought Chestler could provide it.”

“It’s a good theory.”

“It’s a good theory for why she may have been sleeping with him, not a motive for the murder. If she needed him, why kill him?”

“Maybe they fought. Maybe he dumped her. Maybe she found out he was a fraud and couldn’t really help her.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

“I know what you’re going to say next,” she said. “We need more.”

“That seems to be the theme of the day, yes.”

“Looks like the stakes in my one-on-one with Warren just went up.”

“Meaning?” 

“In addition to obtaining a DNA sample, and learning more about his time here as as student, I’ll need to get him to talk about Chad. If Chad could be said to have had a friend here, it’s Warren.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, Phryne. You don’t need to do my entire job for me and you shouldn’t split your focus. Just try to get what you need for Janey. Leave the Chestler case to me.”

“Are you trying to tell me to stay in my lane, Jack? I thought we were in this together now.”

She crossed her arms in front of her body. She looked ready for a fight.

“You will be on camera and Mal will be watching your every move. If you’re right about her being the killer, or even just Chestler’s lover, she will become alarmed that you’re asking so many questions.”

“We’re not going to have this argument again are we? I don’t need protecting.”

“It’s not that. Or, it’s more than that. We don’t want to tip her off. I can question Renquist with less suspicion.”

“You already did and got nothing from him.”

“But with this recent information I have a new line of inquiry to take up with him.”

She shook her head. “I’ll have better luck getting things out of him.”

“I do know how to do my job, Phryne. Including how to question witnesses to get what I need. I went to school for it and everything. And don’t forget, my interviews are filmed, if we’re asking the same questions, Mal’s bound to notice. She’s already looking for ways to link us.”

“I don’t think conspiring to solve a murder is what she hopes to convince people we’re doing,” she said.

“Well, we can’t afford to give her any ammunition at all. Isn’t that what you came here to tell me?”

“It is,” she said, sounding defeated, but only for a moment. “All right. You interview Warren. As soon as possible.”

“Yes, boss,” he said.

“My date with him won’t be until the evening, so if there was anything he hinted at, or was elusive about, you can get word to me and I’ll follow up on it. I can be subtle. They won’t know my information came from you.”

“Fine. _If_ I need something more from him, I’ll let you know.”

“Excellent!” she said, beaming at him, “we’ll be going dancing before you know it, Jack!”

Margo was right. She really was something. So confident in her ability to be successful. So sure of herself. And already so sure of them, together. It was charming. And contagious. She made him feel confident, too.

He very badly wanted to kiss her at this moment.

“You should get back to your room,” he said.

“Are you trying to get rid of me already? Where are your manners, Jack? You never even offered me a drink!”

“Too dangerous, Miss Fisher. If you stay here much longer, I will kiss you and I will not be able to stop.”

“All the more reason for me to stay,” she said, running her hands up his chest and stepping close enough for him to feel the heat coming off her body, “and stay...and stay.”

He drew in a shaky breath and looked into her eyes. There was no sly seduction in them now. Instead he saw an invitation that was hopeful and sweet. Her hands wound up into his hair and her eyes dropped to his lips.

“Kiss me, Jack.”

The kiss was languid and sensual. Her lips parted easily, letting him in to taste her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close and nearly lifting her off the ground. Their initial slow melting together turned more frenzied as their lips joined and parted repeatedly.

The joy bubbling up from a place somewhere low in his belly made him smile and he felt her lips curling up to mimic his. He pulled away, grinning at her like an idiot, happy to see an equally besotted expression on her face. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Just as I thought. Dangerous,” he murmured.

“Let’s live on the edge, Jack,” she said, nodding her head toward the bedroom.

“Not tonight,” he said. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back. “Tonight we play it safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not at all, which is why you should go now, while I still have some self-control.”

“But I so much want to see you lose control.”

“You have no idea how hard it is for me to say this, but now is not the time. When this is all over, and we can be together without skulking about, I promise to lose control so fast you’ll regret having wished for it.”

That made her laugh.

“And then I’ll spend the rest of the night making it up to you,” he said. He raised her hand to his lips.

“Sounds promising.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek and he followed her to the window. He poked his head out, eyeing that suicide ledge of a balcony and the trellis on the side of the house. The trellis looked sturdy enough but was so covered with leaves and vines he was sure she’d be tripped up by something.

“On second thought, maybe you’d actually be safer here. Or, maybe you could sneak out through the door?”

She just rolled her eyes at him, stepped over the sill and swung herself easily, even gracefully, to the trellis. As she descended he watched to make sure she made it safely—not that he could be of any assistance from his position leaning half out the window and over the balcony railing. In fact, at the moment, he was probably the more likely of the two to take a tumble.

She stopped and looked up at him. The moon was partly obscured by clouds, but gave off enough light for him to see her bemused expression.

“You know what you remind me of, Jack?”

Of course he knew. The imagery couldn’t be more obvious, but he refused to encourage her antics.

“Phryne, this is no time to be messing around.”

 _“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?_ ” She said, dramatically, ignoring his advice.

“I’m Juliet in this scenario?”

“You are on the one on the balcony, Jack.”

“Very funny. Now move along Romeo. _I would not for the world they saw thee here,_ ” he said, playing along despite himself.

Her face split into a wide grin.

She blew him a kiss then quickly descended the rest of the way and disappeared into her window below.

If someone had told Jack, when he took this assignment, that he’d fall so head over heels for a woman he’d be leaning over balconies and quoting Shakespeare just to see her smile, he’d have thought them insane.

But then that would have been before he’d met this funny, irreverent, brilliant and beautiful woman. A woman who was unapologetically herself at all times and had a lust for life that was inspiring.

A woman he burned for in a way he never had before.

 _Trouble_ , he thought with a smile. She was definitely trouble.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warren Renquist's interview leaves Jack with more questions than answers and he begins to doubt the investigative methods he's used on this case. Phryne puts Mal on notice.

* * *

 

Renquist’s answers were scripted and careful. He addressed the camera in the room rather than Jack, as though this were part of the show. The whole encounter felt more audition than interview.

Finally, Jack had had enough. He’d probably catch hell for it, but the case had to come first. He ordered all recording devices shut down and sent any crew members from the room.

Eventually, he’d gotten enough information out of the man to provide a new lead and to leave him with a distinctly bad taste in his mouth.

Renquist confirmed that Chestler had been pursuing a business opportunity, specifically another dating show, like _Happy Ever After_. This new show would cast multiple members of both sexes all hoping to pair off into committed couples by the end of the run.

It would be set at a remote island resort where, for all intents and purposes, the participants would be stranded together. Only the most attractive people would be cast and the tropical locale would ensure they went around as scantily clad as network censors would allow.

Booze would flow freely, hooking up would be encouraged, and naturally, there would be some contestants that were more desirable than others, setting the stage for competition, jealousy and backstabbing.

Chestler thought the show would make his name in the industry and better still, a boatload of money. Advertisers would be banging down his door, there’d be product placement deals, partnerships with travel companies, hotels and resorts. He even contemplated compiling outtakes too salacious for TV and distributing them through a shadow company to internet pay-for-view porn sites to increase his earning.

And, for an investment in the project, he promised to cast Renquist in the inaugural season.

“If I could stick around here long enough to build up a fan base I might even be able to come on to the new show as a frontrunner. It would really help to further my acting career since _Happy Ever After_ hasn’t been the showcase I’d hoped it might be.”

“I thought the point of coming on this show was to leave engaged to be married. Are you saying that was never your objective?” Jack said, feigning confusion. It came as no surprise that Renquist had an ulterior motive, but Jack wanted to hear how he’d spin his duplicity.

“Yes, well...you see...I signed on with the best of intentions,” Renquist stuttered, “but, originally, there was a different woman attached as the damsel who was more my type. When she was replaced I just decided to make the best of it, since I was already contacted to be here.”

“You were never interested in pursuing Miss Fisher?”

“She’s a little old for me.”

“Old?” Jack consulted his notes. “Isn’t she the same age as you? Or very near?”

“I’ve always been attracted to younger girls. I think it’s the attitude. The older ones are either too desperate or too career focused.”

“Just out of curiosity, which of those is Miss Fisher?”

“Maybe a bit of both? She’s hot, and all, but after competing in man’s realm for so long a woman tends to get sort of—hardened.”

“Less malleable,” Jack said.

“Exactly! It’s why they have trouble keeping a man. They lose that feminine softness. You know what I mean?”

“I do. My boss is a woman. A real ball buster,” Jack said conspiratorially.

“Then you understand,” Renquist said, nodding sympathetically. “Bad enough having to work for one, who wants to date one. Right?

“Right,” Jack said, stretching his mouth into something Renquist would interpret as a smile.

Renquist smiled in return and sat back looking more relaxed.

Enlightening as it was into the man’s character, this line of questioning would not advance the case. “What about Mr. Chestler? Was his attitude much the same regarding the show?”

“You mean, was he into Phryne?”

“Was he at all invested, or did he simply view his time on the show as a stepping stone to bigger things,” Jack clarified.

“Definitely the latter. I mean, he’d have fucked her given the chance—who wouldn’t—but commitment? That wasn’t his style. Chad was a player. He claimed to have already bagged several women since the show began.”

“He was sleeping with multiple women on the set? This would have been good information to have had earlier, Mr. Renquist,” Jack said sternly, glad to be able to put an end to this buddy routine.

“Are you thinking one of them might have found out and gotten jealous? Oh, man. I didn’t think of that,” Renquist said, going a bit pale.

“Who are these woman?”

“He didn’t give me their names.”

“But he told you he’d had multiple sexual partners since arriving here? How would a conversation like that come up?”

“It wasn’t so much conversation. He kept a tally.”

“A tally?” Jack said, his voice flat, his lips curling in disgust.

“Yeah.” At least the man had the decency to look ashamed.

“How many women are we talking about?”

“At least three or four. It’s hard to say. I thought he was blowing smoke about how many there were, but one seemed legit. He said he had an ongoing thing with someone that was his ticket to getting his show on air. I assumed he meant Victoria.”

“But wouldn’t this new show be competing with _Happy Ever After_? Why would Victoria help with that?”

“If it was on the same network it wouldn’t run at the same time. They wouldn’t compete.”

“So, whoever he was talking to had clout with the network that owns _Happy Ever After_?”

“Yes. Whoever it was, she was the link to the network. That’s why I thought it was Victoria.”

“I wonder why you’d agree to put up money when he was being so cagey. I’d have thought, as a partner in this venture, you’d have a right to know with whom he was working. If only to make sure he wasn’t making it all up.”

“I trusted him. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

“The two of you had become good mates, then?”

“Yes.”

“I see. So, what precipitated your falling out?” Jack asked, watching Renquist closely.

“I don’t know what you mean. Chad and I didn’t fall out,” he said, unable to hold Jack’s eye. The man was a terrible liar, which Jack thought boded well for Phryne when her turn with him came.

“I have it from several sources that your friendship had cooled as of late. That Chestler seemed to have tired of you,” Jack said, “but, beyond that, there is footage of at least one heated argument. Are you still going to try and deny it?”

The only person that had mentioned a falling out was Compton, and he’d been vague, at best. The claim about the footage was a complete bluff but with the number of cameras around this place Jack gambled that Renquist wouldn’t question it.

“Alright. We argued,” the man admitted.

“What about?”

“He told me I was out. I wasn’t going to be part of the new show anymore.”

“When did he tell you this? And what reason did he give?”

“It was the day he died. He said he had a new partner and didn’t need my money anymore.”

“That must have made you angry.”

“Yes. But I didn’t kill him!”

Then why keep all this from me?”

“Now that Chad’s gone I was hoping I could get back in on the action.”

“You were hoping to find out who his partner was and approach her directly?”

“Yes. I was sort of hoping you might know something and confirm my suspicions about Victoria, but I suppose I’ll have to ask her myself.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that. In fact, until my investigation is complete, I’m going to have to insist you tell no one what you have told me today.”

“But if I don’t act soon, I’ll miss my chance.”

“And, if I find you’ve mentioned any part of this conversation to anyone, you’ll have no chance whatsoever. You’ll be in jail for obstructing my investigation.” Jack was done being friendly with this moron.

“You can’t do that.”

“Try me. You won’t even finish on this show let alone ever get a shot at another.”

Jack stood, ending the interview, and ushered an angry Renquist from the room. He needed to find out who was working with Chestler and his first thought was to ask Phryne for help, but before that he needed to call Margo. He wouldn’t go behind her back on this.

“I need to find out how much of what Renquist has told me is true. If someone has pitched this new show to the network, I need to know who that person is.”

“If anyone at the network had contact with Chestler on this supposed project of his, wouldn’t we have already heard?” Margo said.

“One would hope, but maybe they didn’t know of his involvement. Whoever was pitching for him might have let the execs think the idea was their own.”

“And you’re convinced this is somehow linked to his death?”

“Not convinced. Not yet anyway, but if he really was working with someone here, they didn’t mention it during my initial interviews after his death. They hid it from me and I’d like to know why.”

“Yes. So would I. I’ll reach out to our contact at the network.”

“No. Don’t. If we start asking around, word could get back to Chestler’s partner and tip them off.”

“Then what are you suggesting we do?”

“I’m assuming there will be some traceable communication between Chestler’s partner and the network. I’d like to look for it.”

“Look for it how?” She asked suspiciously.

“Here’s where we fall into a category of the less you know the better,” he said.

“You want to gain access to private conversations through some suspect back channel? That’s not how we operate, Jack.”

“None of this is how we operate, Margo! I’ve been forced to conduct this investigation under a microscope. Everything is pointing to the culprit being someone high up in the _Happy Ever After_ hierarchy, and thanks to this crazy arrangement, they know my every step.”

“You’re convinced the perp is someone on staff at the show?”

“Yes, someone high up. Someone who knows this business and has good connections.”

“All right. But, can I play devil’s advocate by pointing out that there’s at least one other person around that place that might fit that description? Someone that has clout but doesn’t really work for the show.”

“It’s not her.”

“How can you be sure? She got herself cast when she wanted to. She knows a lot of important people and she runs in some pretty high level circles" .

“I know that,” Jack said, feeling his heart sink. He hadn’t really thought about Phryne’s life outside of this place and how far apart it was from his own, and he didn’t want to think about it now. He couldn’t afford to.

"And, from what I’ve gathered, she knows how to operate—somewhat questionably—under the radar, too. She’s shady, Jack.”

_No. She wasn’t that._

“She wouldn’t have worked with Chestler, Margo. She’s here for one reason. You’ve seen the file. Does it make sense to you that after putting in all that effort, over several years, she’d let herself be distracted?”

“You said that Chestler had made promises to Renquist and then cut the man loose. Maybe she made that happen. As part of her revenge.”

“She doesn’t want revenge. She wants justice.”

“Will you not even consider it? Do I need to worry about a blind spot where this woman is concerned?”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. Did she?

Was he too quick to dismiss Phryne’s possible involvement? Before this phone call he’d been planning to tell Phryne everything he’d learned and ask to use her contacts—her ‘IT’ guys—to dig into both Victoria and Mal’s communications, in full breach of privacy laws.

And he’d have trusted their findings, knowing full well they could have been manipulated to look like what he wanted to find. He’d have trusted the information simply because, by extension, it’d have come from her.

This wasn’t how he operated. He might, on occasion, stretch the boundaries but he’d never gone this far off book before.

What if Phryne was playing him all this time? She’d approached him almost immediately upon his arrival and had helped steer his investigation from that moment on. He’d been too quick to eliminate her based almost entirely on information she’d provided.

But, she wasn’t the one that had sent him down this track. He’d first learned of Chestler’s possible business venture through the roommate, Arthur.

“I’ve not closed any doors just yet,” he said, with less conviction than he’d have liked. “I need to find out if someone really was helping Chestler with this show idea. If I can find that person, I just might find his killer.”

“So, what are you asking of me? Do you want my permission to go around procedure? To go outside the law? I can’t give it to you. But you knew that before you called me.”

“I did,” he admitted, realizing in that moment that he’d called her for this very reason. To get her to rein him in and provide some much needed perspective. “I feel like I’m in a fishbowl here, Margo. This place—it gets to you—and I don’t know who I can trust.”

Saying it out loud was crushing. He wanted to trust Phryne, so badly, but there was now this seed of doubt. If she had anything to do with Chestler’s death she’d done an expert job of diverting his attention, and the problem was, he knew she was perfectly capable to have done so. He'd even made it easier for her by falling in love with her. He wondered if that had always been part of her plan.

But, she wasn’t the one that had given him edited footage. She certainly wasn't the one that had brought Dubois here and she wasn’t the one using him to gin up controversy and ratings and compromising his reputation at the same time.

Of course, he only really had her word about what Mal was up to on that score.

If the episode tonight showed what Phryne claimed it would, it would prove she was telling the truth and on his side, wouldn’t it? Prove that he could trust her?

“Get out of there for awhile, Jack,” Margo was saying. “Come in. Bring what you have and let’s go over it together.”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea.” Being here was a little like going undercover. He was losing sight of what was real. “I also need to warn you about some things you might see on TV tonight and I’d rather do it in person. I’ll be there within the hour,” he said.

Jack packed an overnight bag. He would stay in his apartment tonight where he could watch the show in real time. Before he left, he sent Phryne a message:

> _Got what I needed so you can ‘stay in your lane.’ Going home for a bit, will catch you up later._

He hoped it sounded teasing and light-hearted. He felt anything but.

 

* * *

 

“We had a deal, Mal,” Phryne said.

She was sitting in the make-up chair preparing for today’s filming. Mal had stopped in to go through the schedule but Phryne wasn’t interested in having that conversation.

“Is something wrong?” Mal asked innocently.

“Cato confronted me last night, as I’m sure you’ve seen. He thinks I’ve got something going on with that inspector. Any thoughts on where he got that idea?”

“None at all! I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I find that curious, since the entire conversation was in front of cameras and this very scenario is exactly what you threatened would happen if I refused to meet with that monster from my past.”

Phryne heard the make-up tech’s gasp. The woman had just spent several minutes trying to cover the bruises on Phryne’s neck and had expressed her outrage over the attack. She told Phryne her sister had once been in an abusive relationship and that she appreciated the things Phryne had said during her interview with Kurt.

Phryne watched the reflection in the mirror and saw the woman look accusingly at Mal.

“You’re still upset over what happened yesterday, and I understand that,” Mal said gently, “but you’re wrong about this. I didn’t even speak to Cato yesterday.”

“Maybe not directly, but Cato didn’t come to the idea on his own. It’s got your fingerprints all over it.”

“Phryne, I—”

“After all I went through yesterday, you couldn’t even give me ten minutes of peace? I did what you asked and you betrayed me. I knew you were a manipulative bitch but this is beyond the pale, even for you.”

The make-up tech was riveted now. She wasn’t even pretending to not be listening. She’d stopped working and was just standing there looking back and forth between the Phryne and Mal. Phryne met her eye in the mirror.

“We finished here?” Phryne asked, smiling politely.

“Oh, um...”

“Thank you.” Phryne was already on her feet, pulling off the bib that was protecting her shirt. She grasped the woman’s hand, “tell your sister I’m proud of her, will you?”

The woman squeezed Phryne’s hand and nodded. The look in her eyes put her firmly in Phryne’s camp from here on out. That hadn’t been Phryne’s intention in saying what she had, but she’d take allies wherever she could get them.

She left the makeup trailer with Mal on her heels.

“Phryne! We need to talk!”

“We really don’t. I won’t work with you, Mal. Not anymore. I’m done.”

“You can’t quit the show. You’re under contract.”

“Who said anything about quitting? I’ll still show up and play my part. I’m simply done with you,” Phryne said.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’m your producer. We have to find a way to work together.”

“We’ve tried that and you’ve proven untrustworthy. From now on I’ll make my own decisions and you’ll find out what they are when everyone else does.”

“That’s not how this works,” Mal said, abandoning any pretense at friendliness, “I’ve allowed you more leeway than most, Phryne. You do not want to know what happens when I work against you.”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been working against me all along,” Phryne sneered. “Come on Mal. Go ahead and wear your true colors proudly. It’ll be a relief to us all.”

She was shaking as she walked away, a combination of anger and excited anticipation making the blood rush through her veins.

She didn’t have a plan going forward, hadn’t even planned the confrontation, but she’d always operated best when flying by the seat of her pants.

Jack would probably say it was unwise to have put Mal on notice and he might be right. Still, it felt good to have everything out in the open. Phryne felt invigorated by the idea of going toe to toe and she was confident she’d come out ahead.

But, as much as she wanted to stick it to Mal and the powers that be, she knew she needed to keep her focus. If she diverted too far from her plan, and Renquist got away, she’d never forgive herself.

She headed to her rooms to get her head together. Filming started in less than an hour, beginning with the group outing, at the end of which she’d have to make her choice for a one-on-one date. It was going to take all the acting skills she had to make a convincing case for choosing Warren.

And then, once alone with him, she’d have to get him to say something incriminating in Janey’s case as well as something that would help Jack. He’d been right when he said it was a lot to take on but he was working so hard to help her—going through the old cases and persuading his boss to get involved—all while he had his own more pressing concerns. She wanted to repay the favor if she could.

She knew he’d met with Warren this morning. She went to the bath to dig out her phone in case he’d left word for her. She couldn’t help smiling when his name flashed across her phone screen but, after reading his words, her stomach dropped.

His message was brief and uninformative. He didn’t want her help. And he was leaving. He didn’t say for how long.

Suddenly she felt very alone.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has a date with her sister's killer.

It was only a text. She shouldn’t be trying to read nuance into a text. If she weren’t in this crazy place, isolated and brainwashed into analyzing perfectly benign behaviors, she’d not have thought twice about it.

Obsessing over what a man was thinking of her and parsing every word he uttered was not her style and she saw no reason to start now.

Besides, everyone knew that texts were notorious for thier inability to convey context. It’s why emojis were so popular, but Jack was hardly one to use emojis. She’d have been shocked if he had.

All he’d really said was that he’d gotten what he needed from Warren. That was good news. And, was it so surprising that he’d left the set? She’d leave right now, given the chance.

Unfortunately, she had an objective to achieve before she could get the hell out of this place. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand and she was perfectly capable of handling it alone, not that she had a choice in the matter. Jack couldn’t have been with her even if he’d wanted to be.

Today’s group date was a wine tasting trip to the Yarra Valley. After which, Phryne would pick one contestant to join her on a sunset hot air balloon ride over the vineyards.

It sounded fun, even romantic, and it was going to take all of the acting talent she could muster to make a convincing case for choosing Warren as her date.

The men were being transported en masse by van to the wine country. Phryne was riding in a private limousine accompanied by the expected cameraman and a bewildered young woman with a list of questions clenched in her fist.

Her companion had been a last minute addition when Phryne refused to ride with Mal. There’d been a brief standoff but, as she couldn’t physically force Phryne into the car, Mal had agreed to ride with the men—most likely to avoid a scene that might make her look weak in front of her crew.

Before leaving, Mal had called over the nearest crew member, hastily scribbled out a list of questions, and shoved the young woman into the limo with Phryne on orders to get the obligatory interview.

While she would have preferred to spend the ride sitting quietly, and thought this new arrival could likely be cowed into leaving her alone, Phryne knew that if Mal didn’t get want she wanted, there’d be hell to pay. Phryne didn’t want to risk the young woman’s job.

She leaned forward and stretched out her hand with a friendly smile.

“We’ve never been properly introduced. It’s Megan, isn’t it?” Phryne had often heard Mal hollering the name.

“Actually, it’s Meg, short for Margaret. It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Fisher.”

“Likewise, Meg. And please, call me Phryne. I’ve seen you around the set. I would have said hello sooner but I think this is the first time you’ve ever been sitting still.”

“Mal does keep me running!”

“She seems to rely on you quite a bit. Are you her assistant?”

“Not exactly. I’m one of the Production Assistants. We do whatever needs doing for whoever needs it done. For me, more often than not, that’s Mal.”

“She must think highly of you,” Phryne said.

“I don’t know about that. I think I was just the first AP whose name she learned—or at least thinks she has,” Meg laughed, rolling her eyes, “but, if I screw up this interview it might be good that she has my name wrong. At least I’ll have hope of finding another job when she sacks me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine. There’s nothing to it, really.”

Meg read over the list of questions Mal had given her, furrowing her brow.

“Mind if I have a look at those?” Phryne asked, holding out her hand.

Mal would never have given Phryne an advanced look at what she planned to ask but Meg didn’t seem to think twice about it and easily handed them over.

The questions were the usual blather. Standard inquires into Phryne’s feelings about the remaining contestants and whether anyone was standing out from the ever dwindling crowd.

Clearly Mal didn’t think Meg all that capable if she hadn’t even trusted her to come up with this level of banality.

“Leave this to me,” Phryne said, turning the page over and writing out a few more provocative queries before handing it back. She planned to give an interview that would make Meg look very good in the eyes of her boss. Having someone that worked closely with Mal in her debt could prove valuable later. “Shall we get started?”

* * *

 

During the interview Phryne dished on the men as if gossiping with a girlfriend. She talked about how distinguished and mature Lyle was, gushed over Reggie’s sweet, gentle demeanor, spoke of Warren’s good looks and confessed that Cato was a fantastic kisser.

She said she was enjoying getting to know all of them immensely and having great difficulty narrowing the field. She hoped her obvious enthusiasm about the four men would help counter whatever narrative regarding Jack the producers were trying to peddle.

After the car ride, which she had actually found enjoyable, the group date could best be described as awkward. There was the specter of Chad, the dramatics of Rene and the fallout from Cato’s jealous outburst casting a pall over the event.

It had almost been a relief to move on to the one-on-one.

She and Warren waited nearby as the balloon began to take shape and once it had risen enough to set the gondola upright, scrambled to climb inside.

It was quite loud. The burners firing almost constantly to fill the envelope.

“Isn’t this exciting!” She called to Warren.

He didn’t answer. He was hanging on to the edge of the gondola with a white-knuckle grip and looked a little green around the gills. She patted his hand.

“We’re perfectly safe and it will be quieter once were in the air.”

This wasn’t her first ride. What had struck her most on previous outings was the quiet. The burners tended to be quite loud when they fired, but in between firings, the silence brought about a serenity she’d rarely found elsewhere.

She watched the ground fall away as the balloon was let loose from its tethers and lifted into the air. Once they were floating free, and the firings became less frequent, it was easier to talk.

“Have you never been in one before?” She asked.

“No,” Warren replied. He looked so terrified she almost felt sorry for him.

“Perhaps it would help if Captain Bill told us a bit about how this thing works?”

She looked expectantly at the operator for assistance with her frightened companion.

 The Captain gave a brief description of the balloons workings, explaining how it was kept aloft.

“But, how do you steer this thing?” Warren asked.

“I don’t. We ride with the wind,” Captain Bill said cheekily, winking at Phryne, “that’s part of the fun. You never know exactly where you’ll end up.”

“What?!” Warren bleated in horror.

“Calm down,” Phryne laughed. She liked this Captain Bill. “He’s only teasing us.”

“I am. We’re not wandering completely aimlessly” the captain said, “I might not be able to steer but I can find the air currents that will take us where we want to go.”

“What does that mean?” Warren asked.

“The direction of the wind changes at different altitudes,” Phryne explained. “He can add hot air to make us rise, or release it to lower the balloon, once we find the air stream going in the direction we want, we ride it.”

“Exactly.” Captain Bill smiled at his star pupil. “Now, we’ve got a beautiful evening with perfect breezes. I’ll take good care of you. Just relax and enjoy yourselves. Perhaps you’d like some champagne? There’s a bottle and glasses in the cooler.”

Phryne occupied herself with serving, making a great show of popping the cork with an air of excitement for the camera.

They’d ascended quite high now and were floating calmly, the quiet broken only by regular blasts from the burners. Warren seemed to have gotten over his initial trepidation.

She handed him a glass and filled it before filling her own and raising it in a toast.

“Here’s to getting to know each other better,” she said.

“I was beginning to think you’d never chose me for one of these,” he said.

He sounded a little pouty. She wasn’t sure what she was expected to say next. Did he want an apology of some sort?

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure you were terribly interested,” she said. “I’m still not. Which is I chose you tonight. If you don’t want to be here anymore, I’d like to know.”

“Of course I want to be here! Why would you think otherwise?”

“You haven’t made much of an effort to get to know me, Warren,” she said, bluntly.

“I’ve hardly had the chance! I know I don’t stand out. I’m not as smart or handsome or rich as some of the other men. Nice, quiet guys like me are always overlooked.”

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. His ‘woe is me’ attitude was pathetic. She could almost guarantee he had a multiple stories of imagined slights from women over the years. She’d call him on his bullshit right now if she didn’t need something from him.

“You haven’t been overlooked, Warren. If that were true, you wouldn’t still be here,” she said, softly.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, “because I’m falling in love with you, Phryne.”

It was such an insincere about-face she almost laughed. He took hold of both her hands and looked into her eyes with what she assumed he thought was sincerity.

“Are you?” she said, pretending to be flattered.

“Yes,” he said, “my feelings for you grow stronger every day. Is there a chance you could feel the same way for me?”

He was really laying it on thick now. Had she been a casting director she’d have been unimpressed with the scenery chewing.

“I think I might,” she lied, “but have to wonder— if things between us were to progress, how do you see that working? You live in the United States and I live here.”

“I’d move in a heartbeat.”

“Have you really thought about what that would mean? You’d be leaving family, friends, work—it’s a lot to give up.”

“You’re right, it is a lot to give up, and it would be difficult, but I think it’d be harder to be separated from the woman I loved,” he said gallantly.

“But I have a lot of commitments and we can’t be together all the time. You’d have to be able to make a home for yourself here. You’ve really only been here a few weeks and have seen little other than the castle. How do you know you’ll like it?”

“This isn’t my first time in Australia. As a college student I was here for an exchange program. I spent nearly a year in Melbourne, at Monash. I grew to love the city.”

“You were in Melbourne? I didn’t know that! When was this? Do you think we might have crossed paths?”

“Possibly. It would’ve been almost ten years ago.”

“Oh. Then we wouldn’t have met,” she said, deflating. “Ten years ago I was in France. But I do have friends that were at Monash at that time. Perhaps we have mutual acquaintances.”

“Wouldn't that be something!"

Phryne started by asking about the friends Janey had been with at the party the night she’d disappeared. It would have been a miracle if he’d remembered them, and admitted to it, but it was worth a shot.

Next, she dropped the name of someone she’d never met but was sure Warren knew well.

“Did you ever meet Jeff Rathburn?”

“You knew Jeff? Unbelievable! He was my roommate,” Warren said.

“No kidding? Could it be the same Jeff Rathburn? From Huntingdale?”

“Yes! Small world,” Warren said, nodding. “Did you know him well?”

“Not terribly well, but I remember he threw some great parties."

“Yes. He was definitely a bad influence and detrimental to my studies,” Warren laughed.

“We’re you still here when the accident happened?” Phryne asked.

It had been a blow to Phryne when she found out that the person who had not only known Warren best during his time here, but had also been the host of the party in question, had been killed in a car accident just days before she’d returned to Australia. She never got the chance to talk to him. If she had, she might have learned Warren’s name while he'd still been in the country.

“I was,” Warren said soberly. “It was shortly before I had to go home. I was actually supposed to be with him that night. I can’t even remember why I stayed behind. I probably had an exam coming up.”

“Everyone was so shocked. I remember my friends saying they’d just seen him at some huge bash he’d organized. They couldn’t believe he was gone.”

“Jeff had a lot of friends. He knew how to have a good time..”

“This particular party was out near Badger Creek. Were you there?”

“I helped him plan it. His grandparent had a resort out there and we took over one of the more remote cabins for the weekend. We partied for two days straight. That hangover was something fierce!”

“I can imagine,” Phryne laughed. She leaned closer, adopting a tone of morbid curiosity, “didn’t a girl go missing from that party?”

She watched the blood drain from his face.

“Missing?”

“You haven’t heard this?”

“No.”

He was so obviously lying. His eyes were darting around in his head, looking anywhere but at her.

“She was missing for days. They found her in the Coranderrk bushland not far from where the party had been. Apparently she got drunk and wandered off,” Phryne said.

“Really? That’s awful.”

“She was a few years behind me at school. Long blond hair. Very pretty. Do you remember her from the party?”

“There were a lot of people there,” he said, shaking his head. He looked down. She could see beads of sweat forming along his hairline. Her heart started pounding.

He’d been there. He’d been there then, and he remembered her now. Even though she’d already been convinced he was involved, this still felt like a punch to the gut.

“Her name was Janey. Janey Fisher,” she said.

It was a risk, but she had to say the name out loud. To make it real. He looked up at her, his eyes wide.

“Fisher? Were you related?”

“It’s a common name,” she shrugged, taking a sip of her champagne to wash down the bile rising in her throat.

This was harder than she’d thought it would be. She hadn’t exactly denied the connection but the non-answer made her feel brittle and hollow inside. She turned away, looking out at the horizon.

“I’ve always wondered how no one noticed her go,” she said. “She’d have to have been very drunk to have just walked away all on her own and by all accounts, she wasn’t much of a drinker.”

“This conversation has taken a morbid turn,” Warren said. “All this talk about dead friends and missing girls. It’s not very romantic.”

“I suppose you’re right. Maybe I have an unhealthy fascination with the macabre.”

“I think we’ve had more than our share of tragedy lately.”

She forced herself to smile at him.

“We have,” she agreed. She could smell the fear coming off of him and it was enough to make her sick.

“Let me refill your glass and we can move on to more pleasant topics,” he said.

“Yes. Of course.”

She wanted the ride to be over. She wanted to be on the ground and as far from this man as possible.

He resumed the conversation about moving forward with a relationship and she played along.

She had to. She didn’t have enough on him yet. He hadn’t admitted to anything other than being at a party dozens of other people had attended. He would never admit to even knowing Janey much less hurting her.

The more she pretended to be charmed by him, the bolder he became. His nearness was making her skin crawl, and when he put an arm around her as they watched the sun begin to set, it was all she could do not to throw herself out of the basket.

Finally they began their descent. When the basket bumped the ground upon landing, he grabbed her around the waist as if to steady them, and pulled her close. It was a made for TV moment and for a second she was afraid he was going to try to kiss her.

She stepped away from him and laughed to break the tension.

“You’re a little tousled,” she said.

She reached up and pretended to smooth his hair, running her fingers thoroughly through it and gathering a few loose strands in her fist.

She had a small resealable bag tucked into her pocket and managed to slip the hairs inside as Warren disembarked.

As soon as she could, she’d find a way to get her package to Jack and then it was just a matter of waiting for the DNA results.

She let Warren take her hand as they walk from the field. She needed to keep up the facade a little longer, but she could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Her mood lifted considerably as she realized that this might all be over very soon.

And with Warren’s demise burning a hole in her pocket, she could turn her attention to Mal. She saw her new friend, Meg, waiting to accompany them home in the limo. She smiled and gave the young woman a cheery wave.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne fakes it with Warren and Jack deals with some fallout from his first appearance on the show. Undeterred, he heads back to the castle.

The balloon had been close enough quarters but the limo ride back was claustrophobic.

On one side sat Meg and the cameraman with his handheld. Opposite them, Phryne had Warren pressed into her side, his arm stretched over her shoulders along the back of the seat.

When they reached the castle she’d have to proceed with the elimination ceremony. Justifying Warren’s remaining presence hadn’t been too difficult when her choices were plentiful. Now, with the number of men dwindling, she’d need to make a stronger case for keeping him around.

That had been, at least in part, the point of this entire evening. Behaving coldly to him now would ruin everything. Trying to play coy was also out of the question as it was too out of character for her. It wouldn’t ring true.

So, she had to pretend not to mind his body so close to hers. Pretend his breath on her face didn’t feel like a foul wind. The camera was rolling and a certain amount of sexual tension was expected.

She kept him talking as long as she could. She asked about his family—he was the only child of upper middle class parents who’d provided him with everything he needed to succeed in life, including a fully funded college education and a job at his father’s firm upon graduation.

Any worry she had that her questions might result in a reciprocal curiosity about her own family or upbringing proved unfounded. He was so thoroughly satisfied talking about himself that it didn’t occur to him to inquire.

She moved on to his past relationships. He said he’d been looking a long time for _‘the one’_ and then spent ten minutes complaining about American women.

They were too contradictory, wanting equality but expecting the man to pick up the check on every date. And, they didn’t really want a man for who was but were always looking to change him. His biggest complaint seemed to be that women, as a whole, tended to under-appreciate him.

After that it had been even harder to keep up a pretense of interest and attraction but she’d clucked sympathetically and said that perhaps he’d just not met the right woman yet.

That’s when it had happened. He looked at her and said that maybe his luck was changing. He placed his fingers under her chin, tilting her face to his and leaned in close.

She let him kiss her.

She couldn’t see any way out.

Every fiber of her being wanted to recoil and push him away but she suffered the contact, keeping her lips tight together despite his sloppy attempts to push his tongue down her throat.

As soon as she could she pulled away, turning her head. He started spreading kisses down her neck, mistaking her involuntary shudder for shivering arousal. 

Janey had endured worse, she reminded herself. She hoped that her sister had been too doped up to realize was what happening to her but she’d never know for sure. Janey hadn’t lived to say.

And she hadn’t been there for her. She’d failed her little sister. If this was to be her penance, so be it.

Eventually she managed to put a stop to his advances, telling him she was still too conflicted to go further. She spent the rest of the ride snuggled in at his side letting him run his hand up and down her arm and pretending to sigh with contentment.

When they returned to the castle she happily let herself be whisked away to make-up in preparation for the elimination ceremony but put her foot down on a change of clothing. She had precious cargo in her pocket and she wasn’t letting it out of her possession for even a minute.

Besides, a change of wardrobe would take too long and she wanted nothing more than to get to her room and wash his stink off of her.

She went through the motions of the ridiculous ceremony, listening to Kurt’s inane blather as she stood in front of the four remaining men. Of them the only one she still felt any true affection for was Reggie which, of course, meant he had to go.

He stepped forward, taking her hands, and the news, with the grace she’d known he would. She bid him a sincerely tearful goodbye, telling him he was a good man and a good friend. She was very much going to miss his kind and steady presence but to keep him here any longer would have been selfish.

It was after two in the morning when they finally wrapped and she made as fast an exit as possible, refusing to speak with any of the men or discuss tomorrow's schedule. It would just be more of the same and her only concern about the coming day was that Jack return and she find a way to get her newly acquired evidence into his hands.

She managed to keep her composure as she entered her rooms, knowing the hidden cameras would be filming her, but once she reached the privacy of the bath she nearly tore the clothes from her body in her haste to get into the shower.

She turned the taps as hot as she could stand it and scrubbed in a frenzy at her neck, ignoring the way it enflamed her bruises, then on to any other spot of skin he’d touched. She let the hot water fill her mouth, spitting it down the drain and then rubbing the facecloth repeated over her lips until they were raw.

That done, she slumped against the cool tile wall of the shower and let her shaky legs give out on her, sinking to the floor, the water pounding down onto her lap.

She didn’t cry.

Instead, she made herself breath. In and out until she felt the anxiety unspooling and being replaced by a calm determination. It had been a successful day, she reminded herself.

She had Warren’s admission that he’d been at the party. She’d looked into his eyes and confirmed what she’d long believed. She might never be able to prove it but, for her, there was no doubt he was responsible for her sister’s death.

If she couldn’t get him for that, she had other ways to make him pay, thanks to Jack and his boss.

With any luck this new sample of his DNA would tie him to one of the other assaults and, once he was behind bars, she’d do whatever necessary to make sure he stayed there.

She shut off the water and got herself ready for bed. Before leaving the bathroom, she made sure to fish the evidence bag out of her pocket and tuck it into the hiding spot next to her phone.

After a seconds hesitation she pulled the phone out and clicked through to her contacts.

His earlier, terse words still sat on the screen but she didn’t waste time questioning them anymore. She tapped out a message, her finger hovering over the send button.

She shook her head and erased her words.

It was the middle of the night. What was she thinking? That he was somewhere, awake, and waiting to hear from her? She stuffed the phone back in its spot and shut off the lights.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

“I’m what?”

Saturday morning Jack met Hugh for breakfast before heading back to the castle. His sergeant sat across the table, grinning stupidly at him.

“You’re trending,” Hugh repeated. “Well, ‘phrack’ is anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“P-H-R-A-C-K. It stands for Phryne and Jack. It’s your relationship name.”

“Nothing you’re saying is making any sense,” Jack complained.

“I’ll send you a link,” Hugh said. “It’s even on Buzzfeed. Dottie was pretty excited.”

Jack threw up his hands, watching as Hugh fiddled with his phone.

Other than the occasional use of them for an investigation, Jack steered clear of the various social media platforms and gossip sites. He clicked on the link Hugh had sent and skimmed through the article—if you could call it that—and was appalled.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “A man is found dead on the set, there’s an actual assault caught on camera, and people are talking about this?”

“They’re talking about the other stuff too,” Hugh said.

“Good to know,” Jack said, dropping his phone on the table in disgust.

“I almost don’t want to tell you this next bit,” Hugh said, although his amused expression said the opposite.

“There’s more?”

“They’re calling you the dreamy detective.”

“Who is?”

“People online,” Hugh shrugged. “See?”

He held out his phone to show Jack another headline. It read, ‘ _Dreamy Detective Drums up Drama on Reality Dating Show_.’

“I’ll give them points for alliteration,” Jack grumbled.

“Oh! And there are GIFs too. Of you on your bike,” Hugh said, bending his head over his phone again.

“Don’t!” Jack said too late. Hugh must have had the site bookmarked.

“You look good, Jack. Very, uh, fit,” Hugh teased. He was having far too much fun.

“It’s perfectly normal kit! Do you think everyone has seen this?” Jack asked, horrified. By ‘everyone’ he meant his colleagues on the force.

“I doubt many of them follow the show. Of course, once one person sees it, you can bet they all will,” Hugh said, matter-of-factly.

“Thanks. That’s very reassuring.”

Jack had spent the night at home and had watched the episode of _Happy Ever After_ as it had aired. It had been an exercise in endurance and he’d cringed each time he’d appeared on screen.

The show was two hours long! And there were so many commercials he thought he’d go nuts. It was a bizarre seeing the real life events play out on the small screen.

He thought the way they’d cut and pasted the footage together to make the already dramatic events even more salacious was unnecessarily manipulative. Although he had to admit he was on the edge of his seat during the scenes with Rene Dubois, even knowing ahead of time how that played out.

He’d actually thought he’d got off easy with the show’s attempt to promote a secret romance. They’d barely hinted at it, focusing more on Cato’s suspicions and his jealous confrontation of Phryne.

“Don’t worry Jack, I’m just taking the piss. Everyone knows it all crap,” Hugh said before shoving a piece of toast in his mouth and digging into his eggs. Jack found his own appetite had left him.

“Crap or not, if it gets attention they will continue to push this storyline,” Jack groused. “How long do you think it will take before it comes back to bite me?”

“What do you mean?”

“The lead detective involved with a suspect? Any defense will have a field day with that.”

“But, you’re not involved with her,” Hugh said. Jack was glad his sergeant was too busy with his breakfast to look closely at him in that moment, “and besides, she’s in the clear. We’ve got her on video in her room when the murder took place.”

Jack shook his head. “That’s not going to help.”

“Because of how it was obtained?” Hugh asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Hugh. I shouldn’t have lied to you about that.”

“Did you think I really believed it was sent to Dottie anonymously? I’m not an idiot, Jack.”

“But I made you a party to the lie.”

“You gave me plausible deniability. Besides, it’s a cyber crime. We’re Major Incident,” Hugh shrugged.

“I’ve been a terrible influence on you.” Jack could hardly believe these words were coming out of the straight and narrow Hugh Collins.

“You’ve made me a better detective. You taught me that justice is not black and white and that sometimes you have to look the other way on the small stuff to get to the big stuff.”

“It’s not just the footage, Hugh. My entire handling of this case has been questionable. I don’t know if the show runners are just using me as a convenient plot device, or if they are actively trying to compromise me, but if this ‘Phrack’ nonsense goes on much longer I’m going to be under even more scrutiny. The brass won’t like what they find and I’ve dragged you into it with me.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself. It’ll blow over.”

Jack shook his head. His meeting with Margo had made it all too clear. He was out of his depth.

Isolated, in what was as close to a fictional setting as one could find in the real world, he’d become an unreliable narrator of his own story. He didn’t know what was real anymore or who he could trust.

But, even with his new, niggling doubts about Phryne, he couldn’t bring himself to betray her and had withheld much of her role in his investigation thus far from Margo.

“When I met with the chief yesterday there was too much I had to keep from her,” he admitted to Hugh, “and if I can’t justify my actions to the boss, how can I expect them to hold up in court?”

“You didn’t tell her about the second set of films?”

“I doubt she’d appreciate the whole ‘it’s just a cyber crime’ argument. And how do you think it would go over with her that we’ve been allowing civilians access to evidence?”

“Not well.”

“We’ve got to make some changes,” Jack said. “Everything we do from here on out has to be by the book. I’m afraid that’s going to extend to Miss Williams. She’s been incredibly helpful, but she can’t be part of the investigation anymore.”

“I get it,” Hugh said, nodding.

His sergeant looked disappointed enough, so this next part was going to be even more difficult to address.

“I hate to have to ask this, but—are you seeing her? On a personal level?”

“We’ve gone out a few times,” Hugh said.

“I can’t really ask you to stop,” Jack said.

“But, you think I should?”

“It’s your decision. She works for Miss Fisher, so she’s tangentially connected to our case. Cutting ties would be the safest way to keep yourself above reproach, at least until the investigation is complete.”

As he said this, Jack wondered if he’d be able to follow his own advice.

“But, there’s no way Dot could be involved, she wasn’t even there and we know Miss Fisher is in the clear too,” Hugh argued.

“Miss Fisher’s alibi is corroborated by the film footage that she, herself, provided. I have to take it with a grain of salt.”

“So you think there’s a chance she was involved in the murder?”

“My gut says no, but we can’t rely on that evidence officially, so—officially—I can’t eliminate her.”

“Right,” Hugh said, glumly, the reality of the situation sinking in.

“I’m just thinking of your reputation here, Hugh,” Jack said apologetically.

“I get it,” Hugh said, “and I appreciate that. I just hope she understands.”

“If she’s worth it, she will.”

“She’s worth it.”

Having met Dot Williams, Jack had to agree. She’d wait for Hugh if she truly cared for him. And if she didn’t, maybe it was better Hugh learned that now. The man was clearly crazy for her and the pain would only be worse later on.

Of course, the same could be said about his own situation. He was going to have to back away from Phryne now and cut her out of the loop. It was the right thing to do for the case, and would probably answer any questions he had about her sincerity, but already he felt so intertwined with her that the mere thought was painful.

The castle was about to become a much lonelier place.

“So, what now, boss?” Hugh said, “I’d kind of like to put this one behind us, if you know what I mean.”

“You and me both,” Jack said. “We need to pursue this new lead but we can’t risk anything getting back to Chestler’s partner, so Margo is working to secure us a bit more confidentiality for our investigation. Ironically, this nonsense about me and Miss Fisher might actually help.”

“How so?”

“It illustrates the pitfalls of having the investigation tied to an ongoing television program. This can’t be the kind of PR the brass wanted. They have to see the folly of letting nearly every move I make be recorded.”

“Let’s hope so, anyway.”

“The problem is, it’s almost too late. I’m too recognizable now. I’m afraid you’re going to have to handle the network interviews on your own once we’ve secured them. If I so much as show up at those offices word could get back to our suspects.”

“Right,” Hugh said nervously.

“You know how to do this, Hugh. You don’t need me. You uncovered the lead in the first place in your interview of the roommate. It’s only right that you be the one to run it down.”

“Right,” Hugh said again, this time with more confidence.

Jack slid a folder across to him. “I typed up the notes from my interview with Warren Renquist. The victim had spoken to him about this new project as well. He didn’t know who else Chestler was working with, but this should give you a bit more information for your inquiries.”

“Thanks. What will you do now?”

“Head back to the set,” Jack said. “Whoever was meeting with Chestler did a good job of hiding, but someone there must of seen something, even if they don’t yet know what it meant.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Jack away, an impatient and bored Phryne does some investigating on her own.

To say Phryne was eagerly awaiting Jack’s return to the set was an understatement.

The bag with strands of Warren’s hair were burning a hole in her pocket. She was anxious to get it into Jack’s hands. The sooner testing could be done, the sooner all this might all be over

Her impatience wasn’t helped by the fact that she had nothing to do this morning and nothing else with which to occupy her mind. Filming a television show amounted to a lot of ‘hurry up and wait’ and today it was heavy on the wait.

With so few men remaining, the morning was being spent shuffling them into a new room that would house all three of them.

As might be expected, this news had not been met with joy. Sharing a room with just one other person had proved challenging enough for some and now, after a brief and blessed period of solitary living, they were being forced together again.

Phryne wandered over and had a look at their new digs. It wasn’t pretty.

The room was one of the smallest available. The walls had been stripped bare of anything that might have suggested decor and the only furnishings were three single beds. There were lined up in a row with barely two feet between them and made up with white sheets, a single, rather flat looking, pillow, and a dull grey woolen blanket. There wasn’t so much as a spare chair to sit upon. It very much resembled a boarding school dormitory, or army barracks.

There’d be no privacy. No coming or going without being observed. It wouldn’t take much to get right on top of each other’s nerves, which was exactly the point.

Phryne considered herself damn lucky to have her rooms to herself but she had no doubt the show runners were cooking up other ways of making her remaining time here uncomfortable. Utilizing Jack’s presence was undoubtedly part of that plan.

She was loathe to give them any more ammunition so, as much as she wanted to plant herself by the front door to wait for him, she made an effort to keep busy in other ways.

It was challenging.

This place didn’t make it easy to occupy idle hours. There were no books, televisions or newspapers. Phryne had never even seen so much as a magazine laying around.

One thing that was in abundant supply though, was gossip. You just needed to know where to look. Phryne headed for the make-up trailer where the younger crew members tended to gather when things were quiet on the set.

She pushed through the doors to see a group numbering half a dozen huddled in the center of the room, their heads bent over someone’s phone.

“He goes out pretty early. Before sunrise most days,” someone was saying.

“I might just have to become a morning person,” said another.

“What kind of bike do you think that is?” Asked a third voice.

“That’s what your looking at? The bike?”

“Morning, gals,” Phryne called out, “what so interesting?”

Several heads snapped up to look at her. Phryne saw her new friend Meg in the crowd, along with Caro, the young woman that had been doing her make-up when she’d had her showdown with Mal the other day.

“Come see for yourself,” Meg called out, waving her over.

“We’re not supposed to let her see stuff online,” the woman with the phone said. She pulled it in, holding it close to her chest.

“Oh, what’s it going to hurt? He’s not really part of the show,” Meg argued.

“It’s alright. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” Phryne said, despite her burning curiosity.

“I’ll show you,” Caro said, grabbing a tablet off the counter. “I’m not afraid of Mal.”

“Well, she won’t hear about it from me anyway,” Phryne said, crossing her heart with her index finger.

After finding what she was looking for Caro turned the device around to face Phryne. Visible onscreen was a GIF of Jack, riding his bicycle determinedly up a hill.

The video had been slowed down to give a clear view of his straining muscles and, as was the nature of the format, the short clip kept repeating on an endless loop.

“Oh...wow,” Phryne said, a smile playing on her lips.

“There’s more,” Caro said, pleased by Phryne’s reaction.

She scrolled through a few pictures that had been taken from different angles, then a final GIF. It was a close up, probably taken just after he’d removed his helmet. They must have used a very long lens because there was no way he’d posed for the shot.

In slow motion the Jack on screen lifted his eyes and seemed to look directly at the viewer.

Phryne sucked in a breath.

“I know! Right? It’s like he’s looking right through you,” Meg said.

“I can see why they’re doing this,” Caro said, turning to Phryne. “It’s totally believable that you’d be into him.”

“Be careful what you say, Caro!” Meg warned.

“There are no cameras in here,” Caro said, “and she already knows, don’t you Phryne? She was screaming at Mal about it the other day.”

“Screaming? I don’t think I was screaming,” Phryne said, bemused, “but yes, I already suspected they were planning to use Inspector Robinson in some sort of drama. I assume these come from last night’s episode?”

“Yes,” Meg said. “People make them from parts of the show they’ve recorded and put them online.”

Phryne bit her lip. As amusing as it was to imagine Jack’s reaction to this type of recognition it was not a positive turn of events. She assumed there’d also been scenes featuring her and Jack together. She’d have to find some time to consult with Dot to get a handle on what they were now up against.

“These silly pictures won’t do much to instill professional confidence in the man,” Phryne tsked. “One might almost think the people running this show don’t really want to see Chad’s murder solved.”

“What do you mean?” Meg asked.

“I know none of us likes to think about this, but it stands to reason the person that killed Chad is among us. Someone here has something very big to hide. What better way than to compromise the investigation?”

“You think they’re trying to make Inspector Robinson look bad?” Caro asked. “So far it seems the audience really likes him. Women in particular.”

“Maybe I’m just being paranoid,” Phryne said, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure Mal’s the one that cooked this scheme up and I have no reason to think she even disliked Chad, much less would have wanted him dead.”

“She _definitely_ didn’t dislike him,” Meg mumbled, cryptically.

Phryne gave her a curious look.

“Chad sure was good looking,” Caro said, before Phryne had a chance to question Meg’s comment. “Flawless skin. Great cheekbones, but, I’m pretty sure he’d had work done.”

Exclamations of ‘no way’ and ‘he was too young for that’ bounced around the room.

“Listen, when you work on as many faces as I have, you can tell,” Caro said with authority, “I’d bet money that wasn’t the nose he was born with. Excellent work though.”

“What about Victoria?” Someone asked. “Do you think she’s had work done?”

“Botox for sure,” Caro said, and the crowd leaned in for her to regal them with her superior knowledge of cosmetic alterations, surgical and otherwise.

Phryne took hold of Meg’s arm and drew her to the back of the group.

“What was that you said about Mal and Chad?” she asked.

“Oh. Nothing,” Meg said.

“You said she didn’t dislike him. Does that mean she _did_ like him?”

Phryne watched a blush creep up Meg’s neck and color her cheeks.

“I shouldn’t gossip. She’s my boss,” Meg whispered.

“I won’t tell,” Phryne whispered back.

Meg looked around and then motioned for Phryne to follow her into a corner where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“You know that at night, when it’s empty, the make-up trailer tends to be used for hooking up, right?” Meg asked.

“Because there are no cameras in here, yes,” Phryne replied.

“Well, one day Mal had me chasing down a story on one of the contestants. There was whiff of some scandal in his past—but that’s another story. Anyway, I’d run it down and was trying to find her, but she wasn’t responding on the walkie.

“It was late, and I really wanted to go home, but I knew she’d have had my head if I left without telling her, so I asked around and someone said they’d seen her near the make-up trailer.”

“Did you find her?”

“Not there, but I nearly bumped into Chad on my way. It looked like he’d been coming from the direction of the trailer so I asked if he’d seen her. He just smiled and winked at me, then kept walking. When I found Mal a few minutes later her shirt wasn’t buttoned properly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she’d missed a button. And—by the way—it’d been button properly earlier.”

“Aren’t you the detective!”

“Attention to detail is part of the job. When I pointed out the gap, she looked flustered, then snapped at me for taking so long with the information she wanted.”

“When was this?”

“Let’s see,” Meg said, thinking back. “It was right before the group date to Kilcunda beach for the surfing lessons. I remember, because if the info I was digging up turned into anything, they were going to spring it on the guy there.”

“I don’t remember anything about any scandalous affair coming out,” Phryne said.

“It wasn’t an affair," Meg sniffed, apparently in disgust, "and you wouldn’t have heard. I couldn’t find anything definitive. Which wasn't surprising, but didn’t help Mal’s mood.”

“She took it out on you?”

“As if it was my fault that no one could prove the guy's scum,” Meg said, rolling her eyes at the unfairness of it all.

"Which guy?" Phryne asked.

"I shouldn't say."

Phryne thought the opposite, since she supposedly had a vested interest in the matter, but one investigation at a time.

“Did you mention anything about Mal and Chad to Inspector Robinson?”

“No. What could I say? I didn’t really see anything.”

“But, you thought they might have been together in the trailer before you found them?”

“His wink certainly seemed to imply something,” Meg said, “but he was a bastard so he might have just wanted to imply something.”

“True,” Phryne said.

The timing of this possible tryst between Mal and Chad would have pre-dated the gaps in camera footage that Dot had uncovered. That made sense since it was also before Arthur’s elimination, while he and Chad were still sharing a room. Any tryst would have required a place with more privacy.

Once Chad had the room to himself they may have decided to take advantage of the more comfortable space and Mal had begun manipulating the cameras for that purpose.

“It was probably just a random hook-up. It happens,” Meg said. “I better go. I've been hiding long enough and if Mal can’t find me when she needs something she gets cranky.”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

They left the trailer and headed for the courtyard where work was beginning for the evening shoot.

“I find these mornings where I’m not on the schedule to be extremely boring,” Phryne said, conversationally. “There’s nothing to do around here!”

“I wish I had that problem! This morning is a rarity. I generally don’t have time to catch my breath.”

“Do you like your work?”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted to do—well, not this job in particular—but the industry—and you’ve got to start somewhere.”

“You mean you’d rather not work on this show?”

“No. I meant I want to be more than a production assistant someday. Getting on this show was a stroke of luck. It’s fantastic experience.”

“Better than other shows?”

“In some ways. We’re not scripted, so things can change direction daily. You never really know what’s coming. It really keeps you on your toes. I’ve learned a lot.”

“It’s got to be difficult to plan ahead when things can turn on a dime. I’ve noticed Mal is very adept at incorporating any new developments.”

“She’s a pro. Do you know she made one of the quickest trips up the ladder I’ve ever heard of?”

“I’m not surprised. Do you think she has even higher ambitions?”

“I know she does,” Meg said. “She wants her own show.”

“She told you this?”

“No,” Meg said, leaning close and dropping her voice. “I saw a proposal in her office. I wasn’t snooping. She sent me in to print something and the file was open on her computer. I closed it for her. I didn’t want her to know I’d seen it.”

“Did you read it first?”

“A bit,” Meg admitted. “It’s kind of stupid but just the thing to get green-lit these days. It’s another reality dating show, only with a mixed group of men and women. She called it _The Last Resort_ because the contestants would be drawn from the pool of past _Happy Ever After_ rejects and it would take place at an Island resort.”

So, first Jack learns from Chad's former roommate of him having had some project he hoped to advance, and now it seems Mal has one too. Could they be one and the same? And did that mean that Mal was Chad’s contact at the network?

It was certainly possible. Phryne would even say likely, but that didn’t mean Mal was the murderer. Why would she kill the man that was helping her?

Something Jack had said came to mind too. Why would Mal go to Chad in the first place? She already had Victoria’s ear. Surely, Mal would turn to her for help first, especially since this new show seemed to rely on a connection to _Happy Ever After_.

“Do you think this show of Mal’s was just a dream, at this point?” She asked Meg.

“I have no idea.”

“I wonder if she’s shared it with Victoria, or asked for her help. She seems interested in helping women advance in this industry. She certainly hires enough of them!”

“That’s true. That’s one of the reasons I was thrilled to get this job. Victoria is known to be a promoter of women, just as long as they don’t advance too high! Mal in particular.”

“Oh? Are they competitive?”

“It’s more that losing Mal would mean Victoria might actually have to put in a full day around here once in awhile. Mal knows how Victoria thinks and what she wants. She keeps things running smoothly.”

A call came over the walkie-talkie calling Meg away. Phryne watched her go with a wave goodbye.

She strolled casually around the perimeter of the building making sure to pass near enough to see if Jack’s jeep was back in its usual spot. It was not.

Disappointed, she headed back to her rooms, flopping down on her bed.

What she’d heard from Meg was all very interesting, but without further corroboration, just hearsay.

No doubt Jack was trying to follow up the lead about Chad’s supposed project with the network. She wondered if it would be helpful to have Bert and Cec hack into Mal’s computer to find the proposal Meg had seen. That way Jack could compare it to the show Chad had been pitching.

It could be the thread needed to knit them together.

Her only hesitation came from her belief that Jack wouldn’t approve. She’d gotten the distinct impression that he wasn’t overly fond of the way she gathered evidence. She couldn’t really blame him since her way usually involved bending a law or two and, while it might provide valuable information, if it wouldn’t hold up in court was it really any use to him?

It would be better to simply wait for the opportunity to tell him what she’d learned and leave it to him to investigate in an above board manner. But—where was the fun in that?

She couldn’t just sit on her thumbs. There was too much at stake.

She knew she could be helpful. More than just an extra set of eyes and ears. She enjoyed the challenge of uncovering the puzzle pieces and finding how they fit together and she was good at it.

Not that she had much room to flex her investigative muscles here. She could mine conversations for pertinent information but had no recourse to follow any of it up. She had to ask someone on the outside look into the leads she uncovered. It was frustrating, even more so if she needed to consider Jack and his annoyingly stringent ethics.

She’d have to work with what they already had, which meant asking Dot to go through the previously attained film footage in the days leading up to the trip to Kilcunda beach. She’d need to look for any shots of Chad and Mal near the make-up trailer at approximately the same time.

It would be so much easier to do it herself! She was far more familiar with the layout around here. But, she couldn’t because she didn’t have access to a computer. Having Dot send all the footage to her phone would be a waste of time. Not to mention viewing it all on a four inch screen less than optimal.

She sighed, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan above the bed.

She listened for any activity upstairs. Sometimes she could hear Jack moving around but right now all was quiet.

She sat up, leaning back against her hands, a thought occurring. Jack was not here, but his computer might be.

His text had said he was going home for a bit. He didn’t say why or for how long. If he planned to stay away for any length of time he’d have taken his laptop with him. But, if he was only going away overnight, as she hoped, he might have left it behind.

Attempting the climb in broad daylight would be risky but Cato had managed to find his way into her window in the daylight without being seen. Surely she could find her way out. After climbing the trellis in the dark, she'd have no problem doing it faster with the light. She could be inside his room in less than a minute.

As long as his window was open. If not, she’d climb back down just as quickly. No harm done.

She had nothing to do for hours and the whole of the film footage just sitting there above her, less than twenty feet away. What was there to lose in trying?

Phryne yawned and stretched for the cameras and then proceeded to the bath. She turned on the taps to fill the tub—her go-to excuse for spending extended periods of time behind closed doors. She often wondered if anyone ever questioned the number of baths she apparently took.

She removed her flats and pulled on her robe to cover her T-shirt and knee length leggings. The evidence was still safely tucked in her zippered pocket. If nothing else she'd be able to leave that behind for him to find.

She left the bath and passed through the main room for the sake of the cameras, stopping to open her window wide before going to the wardrobe and pulling an outfit for later. She returned to the bath, bringing the clothing with her.

In the bath, she shut off the taps, seeing no point in wasting any more water she didn’t intend to use. Then, she dropped the robe and put her shoes back on.

To get from the bath to the window unseen by the cameras one had to crawl along the floor. As she made the trek on hands and knees she recalled Cato making the same route in reverse and was chagrinned to think of the lengths she’d gone to for that rendezvous. In retrospect it had been ill-advised and a little desperate, regardless of her enjoyment at the time.

She swung herself over the sill and dropped down on the lawn, thinking that she really needed to get out of this place.

She was up the trellis in a flash. Jack’s window was closed, but luckily not locked and it was easy enough to push open. In no time at all she was tumbling through it and onto the floor of his room.

She stood up and quickly moved out of view of the window before taking a look around.

 _Dammit_. The desk was bare. No laptop.

What had she been thinking? Of course he wouldn’t be so careless as to leave it behind. The doors in this place had locks but it’d be a mistake to believe them secure. No doubt Victoria had a master key.

She knew she should just leave the evidence, turn around, and get out. Breaking in probably hadn’t been the best idea she’d ever had in the first place—but—as long as she was here, a quick look around couldn’t hurt.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne does a little snooping of a more personal nature. An angry and increasingly frustrated Jack arrives back on set to find an uninvited guest in his room.

The man was fastidiously neat. One of those everything in its place types. She’d noticed that the last time she was here. Was he like this always, or only when away from his home?

Always, she imagined. The neatness was probably ingrained. The sign of an orderly mind.

His tidy habits meant that she would have to make sure to leave everything as she found it. No problem. She could be orderly when she wanted to. She started with his desk, it was unlikely he’d left anything important behind but she hoped to find something pertaining to the investigation. 

As suspected, the drawer was nearly empty. There was a pad of paper and pen, a bag of lollies, (she helped herself to one) and a single page torn from a magazine.

It was a full page ad for an expensive, and apparently miraculous, anti-aging cream. How interesting! She hadn’t thought Jack the type to worry about fine lines and winkles.

She lifted the page, turned it over and gasped out loud.

The page was from a local magazine that had done a story on her. At the time, she’d been organizing an event at which a fashion designer friend would auction off several of his dresses to raise funds for a women’s shelter. She'd agreed to the magazine story on the condition they feature the dresses, thinking it would make for some great free publicity.

She’d been right.

They’d asked her to model the dresses herself and one of the pictures had made the cover. She’d been wearing an incredibly sexy, form fitting dress. It was incredibly short, with a neckline so dangerously low the slightest movement threatened to expose her. The magazine had sold well.

Subsequently, the auction had been a great success and that picture was still one of the first to pop up if anyone googled her name online.

But, it wasn’t the picture Jack had chosen.

The picture Jack had chosen to save had almost not made it into the magazine.

She’d been goofing around after hours of having to pose under the hot lights. Her hair had shaken loose and strands were falling over her face. She had the voluminous skirt of the red evening dress she wore bunched in her fists and pulled up around her waist—and she was laughing.

She loved that picture. She thought it captured her better than any of the others and she had a copy of it hanging in her home. It pleased her enormously that he liked it.

Of course, he might just have hung onto it as part of his investigation. But the fact that it sat here, separated from any other case materials, made her think his reasons ran to the personal.

Smiling, she returned the page, being careful to turn it over the way he’d left it, and shut the drawer.

More curious now about the man than his investigation, she moved on to the bedroom to see if he was equally neat in his private spaces. He was. Even the bed was well made and rumple free.

In the wardrobe a small rotation of suits hung in a row alongside a larger collection of dress shirts, mostly white with a few in varying subtle shades of blue. She lifted one from the rod. He’d worn it just the other day. It was grayish-blue in hue, and she’d thought it complimented his eyes.

Notes of his cologne still clung to it.

She remembered hearing about ‘smell parties’ and dating services that matched partners based on how appealing they found each other’s natural scent. Participants would smell a T-shirt that had been worn for three days straight. The concept sounded gross but—as the theory went—if the smeller found the scent attractive, the person it came from would be equally so.

Phryne hung the dress shirt back in the closet. She contemplated the soiled biking shirt but rejected that as probably too smelly. Instead she chose to start small and pulled a singlet from the basket of clothes waiting to be laundered. She scrunched it into a ball and held it to her nose, taking a tentative sniff.

Sense memory was a powerful thing. She pictured that day at the lake and could almost feel his skin under her hands and lips. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply while a pleasant, tingling warmth spread through her body and settled between her thighs.

 

* * *

 

Jack drove back to the set making a list in his head of the people he needed to speak to again. Victoria was at the top of it.

There was a good chance she'd been aware of Chestler’s inquires at the network even if she wasn’t the one helping him. She was well connected and no doubt had people that would have filled her in, and yet she’d made no mention of it to Jack in any of their conversations.

Why would she have concealed the information? Surely she would see its relevance to his investigation—which might answer his question. 

If she was Chestler’s partner, and they’d had a falling out, admitting to the connection would make her a more likely suspect in his death. If she wasn’t his partner, the discovery that someone—her protege Mal, for instance—had been going behind her back would surely have angered her. Might that anger have resulted in a confrontation that got out of hand?

Jack would be very curious to see her reaction to his questions on the subject.

But, as much as he wanted to march straight to her office, he couldn't. For the same reason he was sending Hugh to the network, he’d have to wait to question Victoria. He didn’t want to tip her off prematurely. He couldn’t catch her in a lie if he didn’t know what the the truth was first.

So, instead of getting right to work he would have to wait for Margo to find a secure channel to a network exec and then wait some more for Hugh to complete the interview.

He wasn't good at waiting. He wasn’t even sure why he was rushing back to the set. What was the point if he was just going to sit on his thumbs?

He supposed he could spend some more time viewing the film footage to try to put together a better timeline of Chestler’s movements. Until now he’d focused mostly on the hours immediately preceding his death. He could use this time to look a bit further back. If he got lucky he might see something that linked the victim to one of his top suspects.

As he drove through the gates, resigning himself to a long afternoon of staring at a computer screen, his phone began to ring. He glanced at the name on the screen and pulled to the side of the road. It would be his first conversation with his boss since she’d seen the show the previous night and he’d been both expecting and dreading her call.

Margo wasn't nearly as angry as he'd feared.

“It’s just what we were afraid would happen,” she said, irritably, “and, believe me I gave the superintendent a piece of my mind.”

“What did he say? Did he agree this was a mistake?” Jack asked. The super was not historically inclined to admit when he was wrong. He heard Margo sigh in exasperation.

“Actually, he disagreed with me completely. He said it proved his point that the show would be good publicity.”

“You’re not serious,” Jack said. 

“He said—now, don't shoot the messenger— he said the image of a _‘young and virile police force'_ was just the one we wanted to portray.”

Jack swore out loud, then immediately apologized for his language.

“I don’t blame you,” Margo said, “I was tempted to uttered a few choice words myself.”

“So, they can just do this to me and I can’t tell them to bugger off?”

“They tread a fine enough line. Nothing they showed last night really reflects badly on you.”

“Have you seen what they’re saying about me online?”

“You mean that they’re calling you Detective Dreamy?”

To his astonishment she seemed to be stifling a laugh.

“I thought it was the dreamy detective,” he mumbled.

“I’ve seen it both ways.” This time her amusement was clear.

“ _Et Tu, Brute_? This isn’t funny, Margo,” he said.

“I hate to break it to you but that is not the consensus in the office.”

“F—abulous,” Jack said, biting back the urge to swear again. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just let this continue?”

“And try not to give them any more ammunition.”

“How do I avoid that? I didn’t think I’d given them any in the first place!”

“The biking gear,” she said.

“It’s perfectly normal gear!” He complained, defending his exercise attire for the second time that morning.

“Maybe try something a bit less form fitting. Or, better yet, just skip the rides.”

Jack slammed his hand against the steering wheel. His rides were the only thing keeping him sane. The rides, and time with Phryne, which he’d already decided he had to give up.

“I did at least impress upon the superintendent our need for confidentiality with our interviews. He’s got a name for you at the network,” Margo said.

“Good. Can you pass that on to Hugh? He’ll cover the interview.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to handle that yourself.”

“Of course I do! But someone there might recognize me and tell Victoria I was asking questions. I’d like to keep what we know under wraps a bit longer.”

“That makes sense.”

“This is exactly the kind of thing I hate about this situation. I don’t like being sidelined.”

“I know you’re frustrated, but it’s not a bad thing for you to have to delegate, Jack. You don’t do enough of that. Collins can handle it.”

“I know he can,” Jack reluctantly agreed. This wasn’t the first time his boss had mentioned his tendency to be too much of a one man band.

“We’re making progress. Just put your head down and do your job.”

Jack hung up and drove on to his parking spot. He headed straight to his rooms to avoid running into anyone that might aggravate his already foul mood.

His door was locked and the piece of clear tape he’d attached to the top of the frame was still in place, confirming that no one had entered in his absence.

He set his briefcase on the desk and walked through to the bedroom tossing his overnight bag in the general direction of the wardrobe. Its door was open. He was sure he’d closed it.

He looked up to find himself staring into the wide and startled eyes of a very guilty looking Phryne Fisher. She had something balled up in her hands which she hastily shoved into the wardrobe before shutting the door.

“Oops,” she said.

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving you a note.”

“In my wardrobe?”

“Yes,” she lied brazenly, “I have something for you and was just looking for a good spot to hide it.”

“You can’t keep breaking in here,” he said coldly.

The woman had more nerve than was good for her and his patience was already drawn thin.

“Technically, last time you invited me in, and this time the window was open.”

“That’s the defense you’re going with? The window was open?”

“Defense?” she laughed, rolling her eyes. “Is it as serious as that?”

Everyone was laughing at him. He’d lost even the semblance of authority. He’d been inclined to let her little break and enter go with a slap on the wrist but her refusal to admit the violation of his trust and privacy was the last straw.

“Do you think this is a joke, Miss Fisher? Some sort of lark we’re on?” He snarled.

Her bemused expression changed quickly to one of surprise and, then, remorse.

“Was it so very bad?” She asked.

“Yes! Unlawful entry is considered bad. Illegal even, as the name implies,” he said.

“I meant last night’s episode. I assume that’s what got you in this mood?”

He huffed in disbelief, scrubbing his hand over his face. The woman was completely incapable of admitting a mistake. At least she was going to make this easy for him.

“You need to leave,” he said sternly.

“Come on, Jack,” she cajoled.

“Now! Miss Fisher. Before I lose my temper. Through the door or the window. Whichever gets you out of my hair faster.”

“Alright!” she said, throwing up her hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snuck in, but it was important.”

She pulled a small plastic bag from her pocket. He reached over and plucked it from her outstretched hand and looked it over.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Several strands of freshly plucked hair from the head of Warren Renquist,” she said proudly.

“That was fast. I’m impressed,” he grudgingly admitted.

He turned away and made his way back into the main room with her following.

“Will it be enough?” She asked.

“As long as there’s a good follicle attached, it should be,” he said. He tucked the bag into the pocket of his briefcase. “I’ll get it to my boss as soon as I can. Now, if you don’t mind,” he gestured toward the window.

“You still want me to leave? Aren’t you the least bit happy to see me? I’m happy to see you,” she said, stepping close and running her hands along his lapels. He wrapped his hands around her wrists to stop her.

“Phryne,” he warned.

He wished his body could be as resolute as his mind. If she was playing him he was helpless against it. The mere nearness of her and her sly flirtations had his pulse racing. _Fuck_ , she even smelled good. It was all he could do not to press her up against the closest wall.

“I’m not due on set for hours,” she purred.

“You may be at your leisure, but I have work to do.”

He removed her hands, steeled his will, and stepped back.

“Have it your way,” she said, shrugging.

“My way? None of this is my way,” he snapped. He ran a hand through his hair and turned away, embarrassed by how desperate his outburst had sounded.

He felt her hands settle on his shoulders.

“I saw a bit of the results of last night’s episode online,” she said, quietly, “if it helps any, you looked good. The camera loves you, Jack.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Too early to laugh about it? Yes. I suppose it is.”

The fact that he hadn’t moved away from her touch must have emboldened her and she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself to his back. Part of him was ashamed by how much he needed the comfort, but a larger part wanted to accept it.

He squeezed her hand briefly before pulling himself free from her hold. It was impossible to stay mad at her but he if kept encouraging the physical contact his resolve would crumble completely.

“Will it hurt your case?” She asked.

“Hopefully not too much. But, the way my colleagues see me is forever altered.”

“Oh, please. As if they didn’t already know you’re a good looking man,” she said.

“That crap on the internet makes me look like some kind of—mimbo!”

She laughed out loud. Apparently the momentary comforting was over. She did not plan to let him wallow.

“First of all, I believe that term refers to a good looking but stupid man and anyone that’s met you knows you’re not stupid. And—who says that anymore? I haven’t heard it used in years!”

“The point is, those pictures are embarrassing. That’s not how I want to be thought of.”

“Said every woman ever who was reduced to her appearance,” she replied.

“Fair point,” he said, “but that doesn’t make it any better.”

“Of course it doesn’t. You’ll have to learn to live with it like the rest of us. Anyone that spends more than two minutes with you can see that you’re an intelligent man! And you’re good at your job. Ignore the chatter and do what you do best.”

She sat herself down on the loveseat, pulling her feet up under her and settling in.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, “You still have to go. I have work to do.”

“I can help you with it.”

“No, you can’t,” he said.

“You haven’t even heard what I have to say!”

“Not interested,” he said, curtly. He went to the window to make sure the coast was clear for her escape.

“It’s about midnight assignations and new reality television shows,” she baited.

He turned from the window to face her. She was leaned back with her arm spread over the back of the loveseat like she owned the spot. 

He hadn’t said a word but his face must have spoken for him because she suddenly flashed a triumphant grin and patted the couch cushion next to her with a come-hither bat of her eyelashes. She wasn’t going anywhere and she knew it.

Jack hoped that Hugh Collins had more willpower than his pathetic excuse for a boss.

“Tell me what you’ve got,” he said.


	28. Chapter 28

“She just told you all of this? Out of the blue?” Jack asked.

“I’m easy to talk to,” Phryne said.

“Unlike me,” he said, dryly. Her implication had been clear.

“I never said that, but you could stand to be a bit more approachable. You might be surprised by how forthcoming people can be!”

“People should tell me what they know because it’s the right thing to do, not because they think I’m a nice guy.”

“Well, no worries there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You scare people, Jack.”

“I simply ask the questions that need to be asked. I can’t hold everyone’s hand. This friend of yours should have told me about the relationship when I interviewed her,” he complained.

“It was just idle gossip. She was hardly going to incriminate her boss based on a hunch.”

“When did this rendezvous occur?”

“Supposed rendezvous,” Phryne corrected. “She didn’t actually see them together _._ It was just an impression,but she did give me an idea of the timing, at least within a day or two. I thought I might look at the film around those days but your laptop wasn’t here.”

“My computer? Were you planning to break into that as well? That’s police property, Miss Fisher.”

The woman was impossible! Jack blanched at the thought of her finding her way into his computer and poking around.

“I didn't think you'd mind. I was only trying to help!”

“I think it would be best if you stopped trying to help.”

“You wouldn’t even have this new information if not for me!”

“I appreciate that, but I’ll take it from here. You have your own brief to get on with.”

“I’m capable of concentrating on more than one thing at a time! But on the topic of _my_ brief, as you put it, when do you think you’ll be heading back into town?”

“Have I already outstayed my welcome?”

“No need to rush off immediately, Inspector, but I went to a lot of trouble to get that DNA sample.”

 _Of course_. She’d want that in the right hands as soon as possible.

“I will get it delivered today. One way or another.”

“Thank you, Jack. With only three men left, we’re running out of time.”

“Will you have to send one of them home tonight?”

“No. Before I whittle it down to two they want me to see each man in his natural habitat,” she said, pretending an excitement she clearly didn’t feel.

“How does that work?”

“I’ll find out tonight. Each of the men will have made their own plans to show me a bit of their world. That could mean going home with them to be meet friends and family or just spending a day with them in their real lives.”

“You do this for all three men?”

“Yes. So I have about three days before I’ll need to eliminate one of them. I’d very much like it to be Warren. And by eliminate, I mean I’d like to see him taken into custody.”

“Three days isn’t much turnaround for the testing,” Jack said.

“If I need to keep him around longer, I will,” she said, though she went a little green around the gills at just the thought, “but I’d really rather not get to where he’s one of final two, so if there’s any way to hurry things along, I’d appreciate it.”

“What happens once you’re down to two?”

“Let’s just say that there’s the expectation of a whole other level of intimacy at that point.”

“They don’t expect you to...” he couldn’t even bring himself to ask.

“Sleep with the men? Not exactly. But I’m sure as hell supposed to look like I want to and I’m not sure I can pull that off. I could barely stand to have Warren kiss me.”

“He kissed you?”

“You know what?” She said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, “I don’t want to talk about this. I did what I had to. It’s done.”

She pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest. She looked suddenly small and sad.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For all of it,” he said.

She nodded, her face expressionless as she stared straight ahead. She seemed to have retreated somewhere into her head. Looking at the way she was folded in on herself broke his heart and filled him with shame.

He’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself, because some people were laughing at him, that he’d barely given a thought to what she must have gone through to get that evidence.

How close had she had to let Renquist get? She’d mentioned a kiss. He’d seen enough of the show to know the producers preferred the sensational to the chaste so he could imagine it wouldn’t have been a peck on the cheek.

She’d told him once that she’d do whatever it took, but what was all of this costing her?

He sat quietly by her side. He didn’t touch her or push her to speak. He’d spent enough time with victims to know that if she wanted to talk, she’d talk. And, if she didn’t, that was fine with him too. She didn’t need an investigator right now. She needed a friend. She needed a soft place to land. He’d be that place, for as long as he could.

“He admitted to being there,” she said, finally.

“With Janey?”

“At the party. He claimed not to remember her, but I could tell he was lying.”

She was becoming agitated now, even angry. He couldn’t blame her.

“He just left her out there. All alone. In the dark,” she said.

“I know.”

He tried to think of something more comforting to say, but nothing came. Nothing would make this better.

“He left her there for days! He didn’t tell anyone as they looked for her. It was like she was nothing.”

Her voice broke as she choked back a sob. He slid closer, pulling her into his arms. She laid her cheek to his chest and sagged against him.

Admittedly, he didn’t know her well, but the submission felt significant. She struck him as someone that didn’t allow herself such indulgences and the fact that she did so now—with him—made him hold her all that much tighter.

“Do you think she was frightened?” She asked, in a voice so small he could barely hear her.

“I don’t know,” he said, honestly. He wasn’t going to trot out some patronizing lie. “I hope not.”

She pulled away from him and sat up. Her brief moment of yielding to sorrow was over. 

“Her friends should have kept a better eye on her!”

“He’d have taken care to separate her from anyone that might have tried to protect her. Besides, they were just kids themselves.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t their job. It was mine,” she said miserably.

“You’re her sister, Phryne. Not her bodyguard.”

"You don’t understand. Janey was not like me. I had to protect her,” she insisted, “but she was heading to school, where she’d be safe from him.”

She wasn’t so much talking to him as just venting out loud. He felt a dread creeping over him as he tried to make sense of what she was saying.

“Safe from whom?”

“And if she was safe, that meant I was finally free,” she said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “I took off as fast as my feet would carry me and I didn’t look back.”

He couldn’t be sure he was right, but he had enough experience to trust his gut, and his gut told him that the man she'd protected he sister from was their father. He knew she’d come from wealth, but being wealthy didn’t rule out neglect and abuse.

It made a certain sense. It wasn’t unusual for someone that grew up in abuse to end up in abusive relationships later in life. It also wasn’t unusual for the older sibling to take the brunt of the abuse at home. He’d seen it before. An older sibling drawing the parent’s wrath to themselves in order to keep it away from a younger brother or sister.

“Phryne. I don’t know exactly what you’re talking about but I do know that you can’t blame yourself. Not for any of it,” he said.

“Who’s going to stop me?” She asked, with a look that dared him to try. “Do you know where I was when she went missing? Why I didn’t make it home until weeks after?”

“No.”

“I was on a beach. I’d fled Paris in the middle of the night. I tossed my phone and and went radio silent. I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone the mess I’d made of my life."

"It wasn't your mess," he tried to argue.

“I caught a train south and didn’t stop until I reached Barcelona. When Janey died, I was on a beach in Majorca, soaking up the sun.”

She spit out the words with a venom that took him by surprise.

“Phryne,” he began softly.

“Don’t try to absolve me, Jack.”

“Can I defend you? You were traumatized. You were fleeing from a violent situation and even if you hadn’t been, there is nothing shameful about taking a vacation!”

“I wasn’t taking a vacation! I was hiding!”

“You were recovering.”

“If my pride hadn’t got in the way I might have gone home when I left France. I might have been there to protect her.”

“I don’t see how. Even if you’d been in the country, you wouldn’t have been with her that night.”

“But, I’d have looked for her sooner! I might have found her before it was too late!”

“You know that’s unlikely. You’ve seen the coroner’s report,” he said gently.

It had been difficult to determine precisely, due to the delay in finding her, but it was the conclusion of the medical examiner that Janey hadn’t survived the first night. She’d most likely died before anyone even knew she was missing.

If Phryne’s theory that she’d been drugged was correct, it was possible she’d had some kind of adverse reaction that hastened her death. This was what Jack believed. He clung to it actually because if she was drugged she might not have known what was happening to her and wouldn't have suffered. 

“At least I’d have made the police to take it more seriously,” she said.

“Do you really believe that if you’d only gotten home sooner you’d have been able to convince the police to keep open an investigation they had no interest in pursuing?”

“Yes,” she said, jutting out her chin defiantly.

He’d learned early on how determined she could be, so maybe she could’ve made someone take another look. Another look that might have made all the difference.

At the moment, Jack was very angry with his fellow officers. They’d been lazy and dismissive. They'd set her on this quest that had plagued the better part of her last ten years.

“Maybe you’re right,” he agreed. He reached out and took hold of her hand, “but it wasn’t your job, Phryne. It was the job of people like me and we let you down. We let your sister down. And I’m so sorry.”

“Not you,” she said, twisting her hand in his to interlace their fingers. “You haven’t let me down.”

“Give me time,” he said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re one of the good ones.”

“I’m no better than anyone else. Everyone brings their own attitudes and prejudices with them into whatever they do.”

“So are you saying you didn’t become a cop to right the world’s wrongs, Inspector?” She gave him a coy arch of her eyebrow and her lips curled up into a small smile. 

“I do this job because I’m good at it and I like it. It challenges me.”

“Is that all?”

“I believe it’s important to speak for the victims and see that perpetrators are held accountable, but I have little say in the matter. My job is to find the evidence. What happens after that is out of my control.”

“That seems a rather cynical attitude.”

“I’ll be sorry if that’s disappointing,” he said. “I’ve seen too much to be idealistic. Deals get cut, cases fall apart, guilty men go free. It’s the nature of the job.”

“You’re alright with letting the guilty go free?”

“It’s not as simple as that. I’ve seen cops lie when there wasn’t enough evidence to convict someone they knew was guilty but that’s a slippery slope I won’t go down. Besides, guilt and innocence is not that black and white. Even the most vile crimes aren’t without nuance.”

She was looking at him very intently and he wished he could read her mind. He really would be sorry if she was beginning to think less of him, but if she was looking for a white knight on a steed he was bound to fall short. Better now than later.

“Take your Mr. Chestler, for instance,” he began.

“He’s not my Mr. Chestler!” She objected.

“Noted.” He rolled his eyes. “My point is, by all accounts he was an unlikable individual who was capable of physical aggression. What if his murder was in self-defense? Who is the victim then and what would justice look like in that case?”

“I don't know. What do you think?”

“That’s my point. My opinion doesn’t matter. I can only follow the evidence and present it to the people charged with deciding how to use it. I’ve had to learn to live with that. Maybe I’ve become more cynical because of it.”

“So why keep doing it?”

“I don’t know what else I’d do. Like I said, I enjoy the challenge. I like finding the pieces and seeing how they fit together. And I’m good at it.”

“So, nobility and justice be damned? It’s just a job?”

She didn't seem disillusioned and she hadn’t yet let go of his hand. He took that as a good sign.

“It’s complicated. I’ve never tried to explain it before. I have to find satisfaction where I can and most of the time that’s in the investigating. But, those times when my work can get justice for someone and maybe bring peace to those that loved them? That’s a bonus. That’s what makes the frustrations worthwhile.”

“You’re nobler than you think,” she said.

“I’m really not,” he said

She glanced down at their entwined fingers and then up at him. Her eyes were shining and so blue he wanted to dive into them.

“Phryne, this is—messy,” he said, swallowing hard.

“Don’t.” She pressed her finger to his lips to silence him. “I know it’s messy. I don’t care. I still want you. You want me too, don’t you?”

 

* * *

 

Once they’d begun there was no turning back.

A frenzy of kisses and touches. She fell back onto the couch, pulling him on top of her to feel his weight and the way he eagerly pressed her down into the cushions.

The man could kiss. The kind of kisses that left you senseless. The ones she’d read about and dismissed as mythical as unicorns.

Before long the clothing between them was too much of a barrier and she tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his waistband so she could get her hands on his bare skin.

“Wait,” he said. Looking down at her. His eyes were wide and his pupils blown. She could tell he was struggling with control. “Where are you supposed to be right now?”

“There’s no hard and fast rule, Jack,” she answered cheekily, “under you, over you, depends on my mood.”

He tilted his head in that way she’d come to recognize as a playful admonishment.

“You knew what I meant. Where do your keepers think you are?”

“They probably think I’ve drowned in the tub.”

“What?”

“For the camera’s sake I made it look like I was going to take a bath before sneaking up here.”

“How long ago was that?”

“If you’re trying to determine how much time we have, Inspector—we have enough,” she said.

She ran her hands up his back and lifted her head to encourage another kiss. He let out an anguished groan, clearly fighting to reach the better angels in his head.

“You should go,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“We have time,” she repeated.

“Not for what I have in mind.”

His lips slipped along her jawline and down the side of her neck.

“I’m sure we can explore all of what you have in mind at some point, but for now, I don’t need a marathon. Trust me, a sprint will do just fine,” she said.

He paused in his attentions to a particularly sensitive spot on her throat and stood, lifting her from the loveseat and carrying her toward the bedroom.

“Maybe we can meet somewhere in the middle,” he said.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is in the air. There's still a case or two to solve, and the producers have ideas of their own, but who cares. Love is in the air.

“We should get up.”

“Yes.”

“The length of this bath I’m supposed to be taking is beginning to stretch beyond credulity.”

“And I need to get that sample to the lab.”

They faced each other, heads resting on pillows, hands entangled between them. His eyes were locked on hers and a lazy smile played on his lips.

“Which one of us is going to move first?” He asked.

“You’re the responsible one, Jack. Tell me I should go.”

“But I don’t want you to go.”

It wasn’t cloying. It was simply a statement of truth.

“Are you always like this?” She asked.

“Like what?”

She searched for the right word.

“Sentimental.”

“Am I?”

“Not in a maudlin way,” she said. “I think I like it.”

He moved closer, nuzzling into her neck. She reached for him, running her hands over his body and was reminded of how delightfully fit he was. She arched her head back as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot on her throat. _Damn_ , he was a fast learner.

“Didn’t we both just say we had places to go, Inspector?”

“Did we?”

“You are a terrible influence,” she laughed.

“Now, there’s a role reversal,” he said, rolling her onto her back and covering her body with his own.

A few minutes later they were on the verge of very much overstaying what was safe. By some silent, mutual agreement they pulled back from the brink.

“Best we save this for another time,” she said. He nodded.

“Another time when we’re not so rushed,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“If this is you rushed, I’m very much looking forward to you taking your time,” she said wickedly.

He gave her an equally wicked smile, but then his expression softened.

“You will stay with me, won’t you?” He asked.

“Stay with you?”

“All night. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you.”

“I warn you, I tend to be a blanket stealer,” she said, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach by initiating the teasing banter they often enjoyed.

“I’ll just have to keep close then,” he parried, swiftly winning the point.

“What a tender romantic you’re turning out to be,” she said, feeling nonplussed.

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” she said, after a moment of searching her feelings.

It might have been a problem with someone else, but she’d already learned that things were different this time. Different and a little frightening. She wasn’t used to being so open with these kinds of emotions.

She smiled shyly at him and watched as a disarming blush crept up his neck.

“We’d better get you back to your room before someone comes looking for you,” he said.

They got up and silently dressed. Phryne kept stealing glances in Jack’s direction as she tried to sort out what was happening between them.

There’d been a moment earlier—there’d been a lot of moments—but one in particular had nearly stopped her heart.

He’d been moving inside her, completely focused on his actions. She could see the vein in his neck throbbing, his breath was coming fast and his eyes were shut tight. She found it extremely erotic. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. She wanted to witness the moment he lost that rigid control and came completely undone.

She clenched herself around him and he groaned softly, pressing deeper into her, his entire body arcing. She was sure he was at the point of no return but suddenly he stilled and opened his eyes.

When he saw that she was watching him, he smiled slightly, his eyes boring into hers.

It was as though he was seeing her for the first time and like if he’d always known her, all at once.

It lasted only a second but it had been enough to make her forget how to breath.

She’d heard the words before—even occasionally from men she believed to be sincere—and she was very good at gently deflecting them.

But Jack hadn’t spoken the words. He hadn’t spoken any words. He’d just looked at her and, with that look, had bared his entire soul.

As quickly as it had come, it was gone and they were lost to other sensations that left her equally breathless.

Early on she’d recognized Jack as someone much like herself. Someone that played his cards close to the chest, at least in public. But his private persona was quite different. In private, with those he trusted, he was far more transparent. 

He’d been open about his growing feelings for her from the start and she hadn’t shied away from him, but she hadn’t been equally open, and she hadn’t fully realized the depth of this thing they were doing.

Until now.

She had to put things on a even keel. The stakes were too high to risk leaving him with a mistaken impression.

He took her hand (she hoped he didn’t notice how clammy it was) and walked with her to the window. Stopping her out of view, he poked his head out, swiveling in every direction in search of prying eyes.

She leaned back against the wall. Her mouth was dry and her heart pounded in her chest. She felt as though it was now or never.

“I’m in love with you,” she blurted.

He straightened, cracking his head on the window’s upper casing. Swearing loudly, he rubbed at the spot of the pain. She felt on the verge of hysteria and the look on his face—one that flashed from annoyance to bewilderment—wasn’t helping.

This entire situation felt absurd. Even ironic. The last six weeks of her life had been an attempt to convince the world she was falling in love when it was the last thing on her mind. Continuing to pretend with those other men was going to be more difficult than ever now.

Jack was still staring at her oddly.

“Are you all right?” She asked.

“I think so,” he said. He was doing that head tilt thing she found so adorable. His face split into a grin and she felt her heart soar into her throat.

“Say that again,” he demanded.

“You heard me the first time.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

The words were teasing, but there was a heat behind them and the light in his eyes kept growing brighter with a joy that was contagious.

“I’m in love with you, Jack Robinson." It was delivered with more confidence this time, and a smile so wide it made her cheeks hurt.

He stalked toward her, placing his hands on her hips and pressing her back against the wall. He had a smile on his face that mimicked her own. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I just thought it important you know,” she said, as he moved in closer, his lips inches from hers.

“I appreciate the heads-up,” he said, closing the gap between them.

 

* * *

 

“Are we ready for tonight?” Victoria asked.

“Just about. I’ve sent the cameras ahead to set up at the venue. We’ll have one cameraman covering her prep at the Windsor and two in the ballroom. Any late night activities will be covered by an unmanned camera in her suite.”

“Do you think there will be any late night activities? There was some heat between them early on, but it seems to have cooled.”

“I think there’s still an attraction there. He’s definitely still keen.”

“He’s desperate to get some bonafides with women, so I can see why he’d need her, but what does she get out of the deal? He’s a bit of a stiff.”

“On paper it’s the match that makes the most sense. He’s closer to her set than either of the other two.”

“It’s a pragmatic choice but it doesn’t exactly scream romance.”

“Tonight might turn that around. He looks great in his evening mess dress,” Mal said.

“Whether he turns her head or not, I’m sure the RAAF Group Captain is eager to remind the voting public of his heroic past,” Victoria snorted derisively.

They’d been working toward this event since it became clear that Lyle Compton was in it for the long haul. As it happened, tonight was the night of the annual Melbourne Military Officers Ball. It was a chance to show Compton in his element and give Phryne a taste of the kind of events she could expect to be routine in the life of a political figure.

Their attendance at the ball would be preceded by a flight in a vintage fighter plane piloted by Compton himself. It would be a testosterone fueled day meant to overwhelm her with a display of masculinity and power.

“What does our damsel think?”

“She doesn’t know yet. She still thinks tonight is a group dinner.”

“You haven’t told her? Is that wise?”

“I thought it would work better to surprise her. You know, literally sweep her off her feet and transport her to the ball like Cinderella. Besides, this way she can’t dictate her wardrobe. The dress Lyle chose for her to wear is already on its way to the Windsor.”

“What’s it like?”

“I’d best describe it as demure,” Mal smirked.

“She’s going to hate it,” Victoria smiled.

“If she wants me to argue her side she needs to learn that she can’t shut me out,” Mal said.

"Are you two still on the outs?"

"Yes. I'm sending Meg with her tonight. I think it's best to give her some space."

"Seeing as she won't talk to you, that's probably a good call," Victoria said, rolling her eyes. "You will to fix this, won't you?"

"I will," Mal assured her boss.

“Where is the princess now?”

They turned their heads to the bank of monitors, zeroing in on the one showing the interior of Phryne’s room and Mal click back and forth between the various camera angles.

“There she is.”

Phryne was seated at the desk in her room apparently working on a jigsaw puzzle and looking incredibly bored. The extremely difficult puzzle of the Great Barrier Reef was the one thing the producers had provided to help pass the time.

“She’s due in make-up in half an hour. We’ve got the clothes she’ll need for the plane ride waiting and from there she’ll go right to the airfield.”

“Then tomorrow she’s got her day with Warren and we finish on Monday with Yoga boy?”

“Yes. It’s a day of improv classes and then an open mic night with Warren. Cato’s basically taking her on an abbreviated walkabout. They’ll spend a night sleeping under the stars.”

“So Warren is the only one that didn’t plan an event that required an overnight stay? What is he thinking?”

“It was clear early on that he's not here for her. This whole show is one big audition tape for him.”

“Why does she keep him around?” Victoria asked, not for the first time.

“He’s one of those guys you don’t really notice. He never gave her a reason to dump him. I think he just slid through by being inoffensive.”

“Invisible is more like it. I can’t believe we’re down to these three! Lyle’s got a stick up his butt, Cato blew his chance and Warren’s just dull. For as many dramatic turns as this season has taken, the finale is looking bleak,” Victoria moaned.

“The stuff with Robinson is playing well online,” Mal said. “I really think we should throw them together more.”

“To what end? She has to pick from one of the others.”

“Does she? Nothing else about this season has gone to plan and the audience isn’t too keen on any of the remaining contestants. I think that’s why Robinson's presence caused such a stir.”

“What are you envisioning? She scuttles any proposal and runs after the dashing detective?"

"Something like that, yes."

"It's not bad. Do we have enough time to influence them in each other’s direction?”

“I don’t think it would take much. They were off to a very flirty start. They just haven’t had enough interaction.”

“Let’s see how tonight goes. If there’s no spark with Lyle, then find a way to get them alone together and we’ll see what happens.”

 

* * *

 

Jack had watched Phryne descend safely and slip through her window and then sat at his desk trying to come back down to earth. It was difficult. All he could think about was that in less than a week the show would wrap and they could get on with real life. A life where they would see where this thing between might lead. They’d still need to keep it quiet until he’d solved the murder, but he was optimistic on that front as well.

The bigger issue was the other case. Phryne’s case. He’d told her he’d get that DNA evidence to the station as soon as possible but he wasn’t sure it would speed things up much.

It was Saturday. Under normal circumstances they couldn’t even hope to find anyone who would look at it until Monday. Then it would take at least 72 hours to get results.

That was cutting it very close. By Phryne’s calculations she had three, maybe four, days before the next elimination. It was beginning to look like there was no way around her having to choose Renquist as one of the two finalists.

The best he could do was to deliver the evidence and plead with Margo to use her influence to push things along, or hope to find some other way to tie Renquist to one of the cases so they could keep him from leaving the country.

He was gathering his things for the drive back into town when a call from Hugh changed his plans.

“I heard from that studio exec. He can see me today at his home. I’m heading there now, and it’s not far from you, so I thought you might want to come along. You wouldn’t have to worry about being seen since it’s away from the studio.”

Jack’s first thought was to jump at the chance but then he remembered what Margo had said about delegating. Hugh was perfectly capable of handing the interview. There was no reason for both of them to be there.

It was more important that he make his delivery and then, as dull as it might be, he should spend some time with the CCTV footage in search of evidence of an affair between Chad Chestler and Mal Jones.

“No, take the interview on your own,” he said, somewhat reluctantly.

“If you’re sure,” Hugh said.

“I am.”

“Right then. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Thanks.” Jack was about to hang up when a thought occurred. “Hugh—you said the interview is out this way?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you meet me on your way back to town? At that diner where we met before? I’ve got something I’d like you to deliver to Margo. You can brief me on your interview at the same time.”

“Sure thing. I’ll let you know when I’m on the way.”

“Good man.”

Jack hung up, sat down at the desk and opened his laptop. He resigned himself to a few numbing hours staring at the screen but found that even this tedious task wasn’t enough to dampen his mood. He could still taste her on his lips and call to mind her smile as she’d said she was in love with him. It was hard to be disgruntled in the face of that.

Two hours later his mood was even further improved.

It wasn’t definitive, but he’d found strong indications that Chestler and Mal had been meeting with some regularity.

Of the two, Mal had done a better job of avoiding being seen by the cameras, but they both appeared in the vicinity of the make-up trailer within minutes of each other far too often to be coincidental. These appearances were almost always after the regular crew would have gone for the day, when there’d be no legitimate reason to visit the trailer.

It seemed clear that Mal was one of the lovers Chestler bragged of, and the show he told his roommate about bore a striking similarity to the one the assistant had seen on Mal’s computer. If it turned out she was the contact at the network it would certainly make her one of Jack's top persons of interest. She had a strong connection to the victim and a flimsy alibi. What she didn't have was a motive. At least not one he'd learned of yet. 

He started planning a careful interrogation where he would dance between revealing and withholding what he’d learned until he got to the truth.

Lost in thought he nearly missed Hugh’s message. He rushed to get out the door, turning back at the last moment to grab his laptop and notes. He might not be able to stay away from Miss Fisher but there were still some professional standards he could pretend to be following.

Two hours later, having handed Phryne’s precious evidence over to Hugh with strict instruction that it be delivered directly to no one but Margo, he was rushing back to the castle.

Literally rushing.

He kept looking down to find that he was driving well over the limit and had to make himself slow down. It was funny, really—or maybe pitiable. When all this started he’d jumped at every chance to get away from the set and now he couldn’t get back fast enough. He wasn’t under any delusions as to why.

Jack had thought he was too old for this, but apparently there was no arguing with the science of human biology. Rationally, he knew his thudding heart and sweaty palms were the result of certain hormones his brain released at the thought of her, but knowing why it was happening didn’t change the outcome. He felt ten years younger and ridiculously happy.

He checked the time wondering if he’d make it back before filming began. Hugh’s interview hadn’t produced the information Jack had expected and he wanted to know what Phryne would make of it—also, if he were being totally honest, he just wanted to see her.

Seeking her out was probably a bad idea, given the current climate, but before she’d left today she’d teased about sneaking up to his room again later tonight. He was really hoping she’d been serious.

 _Steady on sailor_ , he thought, _here be dragons_.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has her evening in Lyle's world. She makes an acquaintance with a horrific story that might prove helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting. I'm traveling and finding little time to write.

She turned back and forth in front of the mirror. The dress was a far cry from anything she’d have chosen herself but she could hardly bring herself to care. She was in too good a mood today to let something this trivial get her down. At least the deep navy blue complimented her complexion.

“It’s not terrible,” Meg said, “though I’ve seen mother-of-the-bride dresses that showed more skin.”

“I believe the look he’s going for is Prime Minister’s wife—circa 1950,” Phryne remarked dryly.

“Maybe you could...” Meg trailed off, her hands hovering in front Phryne as if she could magic away some of the worst elements of the dress.

“It’s fine,” Phryne said, “besides, it’s not what you wear, it’s how you wear it, right?”

“You’re taking this well. Mal thought you’d be upset.”

“I’m not generally accustomed to letting anyone else dictate my wardrobe. Between you and me, Lyle’s not earning any points for this.”

Lyle Compton had turned out to be something of a disappointment. Upon first impression Phryne had thought him terribly good looking and the show was quick to make known his past as a dashing young officer prone to volunteering for daring missions.

He’d intrigued her enough to have her team do some digging and what they’d found had only piqued her interest. It turned out that, in addition to bravery, the Group Captain had a tendency toward rakishness.

One rumour had him seducing the beautiful young wife of a superior officer right under the unsuspecting man’s nose. Another told of an unauthorized trip in a military jet with a civilian (another gorgeous young woman, this one engaged to another man) that ended in a pretty piece of flying and a dicey landing during a sudden squall.

Had the plane not been undamaged, and the young woman not the daughter of an influential man that pressed to keep the story quiet, it might have meant the end Lyle’s career. As it was, he’d walked away unscathed and his legend grew.

That was the Lyle Compton Phryne had been excited to meet and their first meeting had been promising. There was an immediate spark between them. He was devilishly charming and an incorrigible flirt. When the cameras were off he made it abundantly clear that he was open to a physical relationship but on screen, especially when in the larger group, he very clearly disapproved of her own flirtatious nature and her outwardly open attitudes toward sexuality.

She got the impression he was looking for the proverbial _‘lady in the streets, whore in the sheets’_ and would demand a watered down version of her public persona were they to pursue a relationship. The gown was a message. But if he thought dressing her like a school marm would somehow tame her, he was in for rude awakening.

Phryne glanced around the hotel room looking for anything that might add a dash of panache to her outfit. She spied a vase full of peacock feathers and a beaded tassel hanging from the wardrobe knob.

“Meg, could you do me a favor and ask the concierge for some scissors and glue? And, would you mind terribly if I took possession of your hair clip?”

She wished she had Dot’s talent for arts and crafts—or better yet Dot herself—but she’d made do as best she could. In the end it wasn’t half bad and she’d have paid admission for the sour look on Lyle’s face when he spotted the enormous fascinator in her hair.

To his credit as a gentleman, he settled his features quickly and refrained from remarking on it.

“You look lovely,” was all he said, before drawing her hand gallantly to his lips.

“As do you. Impressive hardware,” she said, running her index finger over the medals on his chest.

“Yes, well, I always feel a bit silly trotting them out like this." In contrast to his words, his chest puffed up proudly.

“Nonsense. You earned them,” she said.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Just let me grab my bag. Oh! And I must thank you for the dress,” she said, graciously.

“You’re very welcome. We will be seated at a table with some very high ranking officers and, as I’m more familiar with the mode of dress expected at these events, I took it upon myself to choose something appropriate. I’m glad you like it,” he said, though she didn’t remember having said so.

“Kind of you. I wouldn’t want to misstep,” she said.

“It can be tricky,” he remarked, her sardonic tone having flown right over his head, “in fact, if I might make a suggestion, you may want to rethink the headdress.”

“Don’t you like it?” she said, gingerly touching her hand to the feathers in her hair.

“It’s not me! But, among our party tonight will be Chief Marshal Joshua Hawthorne and his wife. They tend to be very conservative.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Uncle Josh and Aunt Tibby are quite used to me,” Phryne said with a wave of her hand.

“Uncle Josh?”

“He’s not really my uncle, of course. Tibby was at school with my Aunt Prudence. I’ve known them my entire life. It will be lovely to see them again! Shall we?” She strolled past him, and his gaping mouth, without awaiting a reply.

Phryne felt herself coming alive as they entered the hotel’s ballroom. She always thrived in a crowd and it was wonderful to be out among people again.

Lyle was very much in his element as well, pressing flesh and slapping backs. He was careful to introduce Phryne promptly, unlike some men that tend to forget the woman at their side far too easily.

It was clear that people thought they cut an attractive figure and that their pairing made sense, but she knew better and she felt like a fraud. Even more so than before. After this morning all of this seemed more foolish than ever.

It occurred to her that she could easily make a break for it. All she had to do was lose Lyle in the crowd, get out of the hotel and into the street. She could hop on a tram and be at Mac’s place in no time at all. Mac would ask no questions and let her hide out as long as she wanted. Instead, she took hold of the arm Lyle offered and let him lead her to their table.

“Little Phryne? It can’t be!”

Phryne heard a booming voice from behind her and turned to find herself pulled into into a firm hug, her face pressed to a broad chest full of hardware. Chief Marshal Hawthorne was definitely beating Lyle in the medal department.

“Hello, Uncle Josh. I don’t need to ask how you are! You’re as handsome as ever.”

“And you are still a shameless flatterer. You look marvelous, my dear. Tibby will be so pleased to see you.”

“Where is your better half?” Phryne asked.

“Off powdering her nose. Is this your young man?”

Introductions were made and once Tibby returned she insisted the seating be reorganized to seat Phryne at her side. Lyle happily took the chair at the Chief Marshal’s other side.

“So, is he the one, dear?” Tibby said, leaning close and whispering in Phryne’s ear. “He’s very good looking.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is the dashing Group Captain the one you’re going to choose? I know it’s supposed to be a secret, but you can tell your old Aunt Tibby, can’t you?”

“Don’t tell me you watch the show?”

“Always! But don’t tell Pru. She wouldn’t approve. She’s quite upset with you for doing this, you know. She said you didn’t even consult her first. I asked her when it was that you ever consulted her!” Tibby laughed.

“Poor Aunt Prudence. I am forever letting her down, aren’t I?”

“Don’t be silly. She’s ridiculously proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. As am I, darling,” Tibby said, patting Phryne’s hand.

“Thank you, Tibs.”

“I have to say I was surprised when you were announced as the next Damsel. If I’d known you were looking, I’d have been happy to set you up with any number of lovely, eligible young men.”

“Keep a stable of them out back, do you? Does your husband know about this?”

“What Joshua doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Tibby said, sipping her drink coyly.

Phryne had always marveled at the friendship between this funny, vivacious woman and her stalwart Aunt Prudence. Tibby claimed there was more to Prudence than met the eye, especially when she’d been a younger woman.

“But, seriously, sweetie,” Tibby said, “this latest lark of your does have all of us concerned, especially given the news of that death. You are safe there, aren’t you?”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m in no danger. The police have everything well in hand.”

“Ah, yes. One policeman in particular? If nothing else, he seems to have caught your eye.”

“Don’t believe everything you see,” Phryne advised, “rumour and innuendo are the show’s stock-in-trade.”

“Nothing to it? Oh, well,” Tibby sighed. “He is quite handsome but hearing this will please your aunt. She’s firmly in the Group Captain’s corner.”

“What? Aunt Prudence?”

“Oh yes,” Tibby said, with a knowing smile, “she says the show is an embarrassment but should you form an alliance with a man destined for power she’d approve the match.”

“Imagine my relief,” Phryne said. This conversation was starting to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

After a few more minutes she excused herself to the toilets. She was in need of a little peace and it was one place the boom mic couldn’t follow her. If she didn’t return in a reasonable amount of time some crew member would come and breathe down her neck but they wouldn’t begrudge her a few minutes of privacy. There were some boundaries she was allowed.

She was at the sink when the woman approached her. Phryne could feel the woman’s eyes on her as she washed her hands.

“You’re Phryne Fisher, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Phryne said, with a friendly smile.

“I think seeing you here must be a sign.”

“A sign?” Phryne wondered if she was about to have her first encounter with an overly ardent fan of the show.

Dot had filled her in on some of the things floating around online. Each of the knights had their own fan club, some rather rabid, and Phryne wonder she was about to get another earful on which one to choose.

“I think you need to know,” the woman said vaguely, as if she were talking more to herself than Phryne. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw him. I can’t even watch the show when he’s on and now he’s one of the final three.”

The woman was clearly upset and growing more agitated by the second. Phryne took her arm and led her to the couch in the lounge.

“Please sit. What’s your name?” Phryne said gently.

“Sarah,” she said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah. Tell me, what has you so upset?”

“I haven’t thought about it in years, but seeing him again brought it all back and now— he’s in the final three and I’d never forgive myself if I had this chance and let it pass. You see, I knew him. When he was here before.”

As the woman told her story Phryne felt an odd mix of horror and elation. This just might the corroborating evidence they needed. It was year’s ago, and would likely be put down to a ‘he said/she said’ scenario, but Sarah’s story was compelling and far too familiar.

It fit the pattern—a party, a sudden onset of impairment, and then awakening in an unfamiliar place with scant memories of the previous night.

“But I clearly remember the two of them—in the beginning before everything got so foggy. They were talking over me—never to me. I told them to stop. At least, I remember thinking it, but maybe I never said it. I couldn’t fight back. My limbs seemed useless. I couldn’t stop them.”

“They? There was more than one assailant?”

“They were always together. Warren followed Jeff around like a puppy. I’m not sure he had any other friends.”

“Jeff Rathburn?” The roommate that died before Phryne had a chance to speak with him.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Warren mentioned his roommate at Uni. I remember the name,” Phryne said, evasively. She couldn’t tell this woman about Janey. If the story got out before she had her proof it might ruin everything, but this information of two assailants provided a new and sickening possibility for the other DNA found on her sister.

“Before that I’d thought of Jeff as a friend,” Sarah was saying. “I even fancied him a bit. I always wondered if I somehow I gave him the idea that I...”

“You didn’t,” Phryne said. “Even if you were attracted to Jeff, or flirted with him, you never consented to be being drugged and assaulted.”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do.”

The woman’s relief was obvious.

“Thank you for telling me,” Phryne said. “I know it wasn’t easy and I’m grateful.”

“I was so worried you’d think I was interfering. That it was none of my business, but you seem like such a lovely person. I thought you needed to know.”

“Have you told anyone else about this?” Phryne asked.

“I told my best friend after it happened. She said I should go to the police but I just wanted to forget it. People knew I fancied Jeff and I’d been drinking. I didn’t think they’d believe me. And I was so ashamed.”

“You’re not to blame. And, it’s not too late. You could still tell your story to the police.”

“What would be the point? It was so long ago. And Jeff is dead.”

“But Warren is not. He shouldn’t get away with this.”

“I just want him to go back to America where I won’t ever have to see his face again.”

“Don’t you think he should be made to pay for what he’s done?” Phryne said.

 _What a hypocrite I am_ , Phryne thought. In a similar situation she’d jumped at the chance to send Rene home rather than face the public scrutiny of a trial. But, as much as she didn’t want to push this woman she had to try. For Janey.

“I understand your hesitation, Sarah. Really I do," Phryne said, "but, if Warren did this to you, there’s every possibility he did it to other women too.”

“Then one of them can come forward. I don’t think I could handle having the whole world to know about what happened to me.”

“Maybe your name could be kept out of it. At least until we know if there is even a chance of bringing a case against Warren,” Phryne said.

“How would we do that?”

“Tell me as much as you can remember from that night. I have friends that can do some discreet investigating. If we find anything helpful we can take it to the police.”

“They weren’t going to believe me back then, why would they believe me now?”

“There is a detective I met recently whom I’ve come to trust. I could speak to him without mentioning your name. If he thinks there’s a case, you can decide then whether or not you’re ready to come forward. The decision will be entirely yours.”

“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Do you really think something could be done? Even after all this time?”

“I can’t promise it, but we can try.”

“What will you do about Warren?”

“That depends on you. I think he should pay for what he’s done, but it’s your decision. I’ll keep him around a bit longer to give you time to consider what you want to do but I can’t wait too long. Eventually I will have to send him packing.”

“I’d have thought you’d want him gone immediately.”

“I have to be careful about it. I can’t reveal my true reasons for eliminating him without exposing what you’ve told me. I’ll need time to find another explanation, and while I do, I can give you some time to think about how you want to proceed. I have to think there was more to your coming to me than just wanting to warn me off of the man.”

“You might be right. I does make me furious that he should be able to move on without consequences of any kind.”

“Let me give you a number,” Phryne said, scribbling on a paper towel from the sink. “This is my assistant’s information. Her name is Dot Williams and she’s very trustworthy. If you decide to move ahead with this, or have any other concerns, please call her. She’ll know how to reach me.”

Phryne left the bathrooms before anyone could come looking for her, but for the remainder of the night she could think about little else than Sarah and her story. She was impatient to get back to the set and speak to Jack about what she’d learned.

Her distraction must have shown and Lyle let her know he was displeased as they danced to a slow tune.

“Am I boring you?”

“I’m sorry?” she said, blinking up at him.

“You seem a million miles away tonight. Have you heard a single word I’ve said?” He complained.

“Oh dear. Have I been rude? It’s been an overwhelming night. The crowd is a bit much after so much time away from the real world,” Phryne lied.

“If you’ve had enough we could go. It would certainly be more peaceful back in that suite at the Windsor with just the two of us.”

It was then she realized just how he was hoping this evening would end. She’d so thoroughly checked out of the whole _Happy Ever After_ charade that she was beginning to forgot there was a game to be played.

“The two of us?” she said, dubiously, “I don’t recall issuing you an invitation.”

“Come on, Phryne. You can’t still struggling with this decision?” He said. “It must be as obvious to you as everyone else!”

“What must be?”

“There is only one clear choice here! Those other men are nowhere near your equal.”

“And you are?” She asked. “Tell me Lyle, are you in love with me?”

The question seemed to surprise him but he didn’t miss a step in the dance. He guided her gracefully, looking over her head as he answered.

“I admire you. You’re a remarkable woman and there's a strong attraction between us. You must feel it. But I’m a pragmatic man, not prone to romantic nonsense. Romance is not a solid basis on which to form a commitment. I’m looking for a suitable life companion. One who shares my values and will be an asset to me in my work.”

“I take it that’s a ‘no’, then.” Her words were delivered with a note of amusement. She felt no disappointment.

“Don’t pretend to be affronted. I know you don’t adhere to these silly notions of love and romance any more than I do! You’re too intelligent for that,” he said.

A day or two ago she’d have agreed with him but today she thought there was a lot to be said for romance.

“We’d be good together and you know it,” Lyle said. “We could help each other get what we want in life.”

“What is it you think I want, Lyle? Do you have any idea? You’ve never even asked,” she said, “but for the sake of argument, if I were to become a politician’s wife, how would I continue my work?”

“A politician’s wife has great visibility. You could do whatever you liked.”

“But, what about my foundation? When it comes to raising funds, there’d always be the worry that someone was trying to go through me to influence you.”

“Of course there would need to be some changes,” he said. “You’d have to leave your foundation in someone else’s hands but, as my wife, you’d be able to advocate for any number of worthy causes.”

“Causes, I assume, you would need to approve,” she said.

“I would expect a say, yes,” he said, “as any husband would.”

“You think a husband should always have a say in his wife’s choices?”

“Where they might affect him, or his work, yes. Certainly.”

“And would you equally consider how your choices or actions might affect my work?”

“To the extent I could, but surely you understand that as a politician I would have my party’s platform to consider.”

“And the needs of your constituents,” she said.

“What?”

“You would have to consider the needs of your constituents.”

“Yes, yes, that goes without saying.” he said, blushing slightly. “My constituents will be my first priority.”

“I’ve no doubt,” she said.

He gave her a grateful smile. In the course of their conversation he seemed to have forgotten about the cameras and microphones, and the fact that there was an electorate out there he was supposed to be pandering to.

He pulled her close, spinning her around and leaning into her ear.

“See what a great team we make?” He whispered, but all she’d seen so far is how helpful she might be to him. Nothing he had to offer her held any interest, but she didn’t continue the argument.

She relaxed into Lyle’s arms, resigned to letting him lead her around the floor as he pleased. If he thought that meant he was winning, _c’est la vie_. It didn’t matter anymore. It never had.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal feels like things are spiraling out of her control and works to get a step ahead. Phryne brings her new information to Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long it took me to get this chapter up! After a lovely Australian vacation and the Thanksgiving holiday it took me a while to get back into the right head space for this story. I plan to work steadily toward a conclusion now. Thank you for sticking with me!

Mal couldn’t sleep.

As was her habit when sleep eluded, she took to her feet and walked the grounds. The only time the set was this quiet was at night. There was no one looking for her to put out a fire. No walkie-talkie squawking on her hip. No Victoria breathing down her neck. It allowed her time to take a breath. Time to think.

And she needed it.

She’d been moving too fast lately. When her initial plan had been thwarted she’d panicked and acted without thinking things through. She needed to slow down and try to look two moves ahead. Plan rather than react.

She turned the corner, around to the back of the estate. She didn’t usually walk this way but lately she’d found herself here increasingly often.

His light was on, as she’d expected it would be. He seemed almost as prone to insomnia as she was herself.

She’d misjudged him at first. His brash arrogance had made her underestimate him. She thought she knew the type and she’d used her usual approach with him. She’d been friendly, helpful and sympathetic. She’d employed Victoria as their common villain and herself as his protector.

It almost worked. She blamed her failure on Phryne. She wasn’t sure how it had happened so quickly, but Phryne had managed to build a rapport with the man and she’d used it to box Mal out.

It became clear that day on the set when he’d struggled with his first appearance on camera. Until then things had been going to plan for Mal. He’d accepted her help and was taking her advice until Phryne had stepped in.

She’d thought it was just Phryne being Phryne and taking every opportunity to undermine her, but she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t about her, it was about Robinson.

Just as she’d underestimated Robinson, she’d underestimated her damsel’s attachment to the man. She’d thought it was simply Phryne’s usual interest in something new and shiny that she might charm and ensnare. Robinson was a good looking man and Phryne a sucker for a pretty face.

It wasn’t until Phryne chose facing her horrific ex over sacrificing Robinson to the _Happy Ever After_ machine that Mal realized her mistake. She should have backed down then. She should never have brought that horrible man on set. Mal knew exactly who Rene Dubois was, she was nothing if not thorough in her research.

It was only pride that stopped her from calling the whole thing off. She couldn’t let Phryne win.

In her defense she’d never expected the man to go all ‘fatal attraction’, but the damage was done. And it was apparently the final push Robinson needed to truly fall.

Mal had seen the way he looked at Phryne as he’d pulled Dubois to his feet. The admiration in his eyes was plain.

Whatever Robinson had thought of Phryne before that day, and Mal was quite sure he was already attracted to her, after he watched her with Dubois and witnessed the way she outsmarted the man, played him until he made his mistake, and then easily dispatched him, Robinson was a goner. And he’d firmly planted himself on Phryne’s team.

Which meant Mal was out in the cold. In one fell swoop she’d alienated Phryne and caused Robinson to hold her at arm’s length.

At least she finally had Victoria on board with the secret romance idea. She congratulated herself on how well the first salvo had gone.

Phrack was still trending in the chat rooms. Once Phryne rejected Lyle tonight, which she undoubtedly would, Mal could go at it guns blazing.

She was pushing it as much out of spite as anything else. Once she’d realized that Phryne truly liked the man the idea had become something of an obsession.

She thought she had a good enough measure of the man Jack Robinson was to know he wouldn’t be happy to be caught up in some made-for-tv romance and she thought it would drive a wedge between the two of them. She wanted to watch Phryne lose for once in her life. She’d really come to dislike that woman.

Fair or not, Mal blamed a lot of what had occurred on Phryne.

It didn’t help that she’d had to endure Victoria’s constant complaints about her inability to control their damsel.

Even though they were having one of their highest rated seasons Victoria had to gripe. It was her way. She always chose a producer to pick on, it had just never been Mal before.

To add insult to injury, as much as she complained about the woman, Victoria actually seemed to admire Phryne. It was almost more than Mal could stand.

She checked her watch. The film from Phryne’s evening with Lyle Compton should be in by now. She turned her steps back to the control room to review the tapes to see how the evening had gone.

Mal had to watch it twice.

The film footage had ended with Phryne inviting Lyle into her suite for the night. Mal couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had been sure that Phryne was steadily losing interest in the man. She’d been watching him dig himself into a hole with his arrogance since day one. There was no denying that Compton was a fine specimen of a man but Mal didn’t think the prospect of a good roll in the hay was enough to get Phryne past the rest of it.

This was a disaster. Even the hint of sex could be enough to ruin her plans. Victoria had said they would only move forward with a Phryne and Jack scenario if Phryne rejected Lyle, and apparently, she hadn’t.

But, maybe Mal could make it look like she had. Maybe she could convince Victoria to ignore the apparent outcome for one where Lyle crashed and burned.

It wouldn’t be difficult.

First of all, Phryne and Lyle didn’t exactly set the screen on fire. Any chemistry they'd had in the beginning was nowhere to be found.

Then there was the dress. Phryne’s dress had been a tactical error. Mal had been gleeful when she’d seen it, knowing how it would irk Phryne to have to wear it, but that had been short-sighted.

It didn’t give the cameras anywhere to linger. No cleavage. No leg. Not even a bit of skin for Lyle’s hand to brush when they danced.

He looked all right. The uniform was good and the chest full of medals didn’t hurt but, among his fellow officers, the man was even more stiff then usual. The bits of conversation the microphones had picked up made him sound like a pompous ass.

When Phryne had asked him outright how he felt about her he’d banged on about pragmatics and practicality!

It would be dead simple to make this whole outing look like a complete disaster. Far easier then trying to mash together a convincing night of simmering passion that finally boiled over.

She decided to make two cuts. One where they ended the night together and one where they didn’t. The trick was to make the one where they didn’t so compelling that Victoria would have to choose it.

 But the more she worked with the footage, the more confused Mal was as to how the evening had ended with an invitation to the bedroom. She began to think she was missing something. It wouldn’t be the first time Phryne had been a step ahead.

She was still sitting there pondering things, her eyes blurring at the screen, when she got word that the damsel and her team were back.

She checked her watch. It was far too early.

Phryne had the suite all morning. Even if she was sick of Lyle, she could’ve had him bounced and then lounged about and ordered herself some room service. Instead, she’d rushed back to this place? Something was definitely not right.

She summoned the PA she’d sent along to babysit for a debrief. What she learned left her even more confused.

Phryne and Lyle had retired together to the suite, just as the film showed, but that PA, Megan something-or-other, had been called to Phryne’s room at the crack of dawn. She’d found Lyle in the sitting room, uncharacteristically rumpled, in the same clothes he’d worn night before. Phryne was in the bedroom and the door between the two rooms was securely locked.

When the girl knocked, Phryne answered promptly, already dressed and impatient to return to the set.

Mal had bluntly asked if it looked like they’d had sex but the girl couldn’t be sure. Whatever had happened, she didn’t think they’d spent the night in the same bed. Upon entering the suite she’d got the impression Lyle had slept on the couch.

Mal dismissed the girl and turned her eyes to the ever present bank of monitors looking for Phryne. She wasn’t due on set for a couple of hours yet and could be anywhere.

It didn’t take long to find her. She was in her rooms. Whatever had occurred the previous night had apparently worn her out because she was currently tucked up under her blankets, sound asleep.

It didn't make sense. None of this made any sense. She left a comfortable hotel suite only to hurry back here and go back to bed? Mal thought about going to knock on her door but that would probably only irritate Phryne further and she couldn't see the benefit of that.

She needed to clear her head. She stepped out of the stuffy trailer and went to get herself a cup of coffee.

The more she thought about it, the more she decided that nothing had happened between Lyle and Phryne. It was all an illusion orchestrated by thier devious damsel. But why? Why would Phryne want it to look like she’d slept with Lyle?

The only possible reason Mal could think of was Robinson. Phryne was still protecting the man. Somehow she must have gotten wind of what aired in the last episode. It wouldn’t be the first time Phryne seemed to have knowledge she shouldn’t have about the show. Mal wasn’t sure how she did it. She assumed she’d charmed some of the crew into feeding her tidbits of information.

But this time it might be Mal’s own fault. She’d tipped her hand when she’d given Phryne that option between Robinson or Dubois. Clearly, since then, Phryne had been on the lookout for any signs that Mal had breached their agreement to keep Jack out of it. Or maybe she’d just assumed that Mal would violate the agreement. It’s what Mal would assume in Phryne’s position.

Mal relished the idea of going head to head with Phryne on this one but there was too little time and too much at stake.

Besides, she had a better plan. Her original plan. Victoria had foiled it initially but this time Victoria would be in the dark until it was too late.

Mal hurried back to the control room. Her boss rarely got to the set before nine. There was plenty of time to get the file from Vic’s office, pull what she needed from it, and put it back in its hiding place.

When she was finished, the video clip was brief, barely more than a minute, and there was no sound, but it painted a compelling picture. Robinson would find the timestamp of particular interest.

Mal checked the monitors one last time to make sure she could get to his rooms unseen. Phryne still slept and any crew that was moving about could easily be avoided.

Mal tucked her laptop into the beat up messenger bag that never left her side. She felt the motors in her head start to rev, the gears shifting into place and that first, exhilarating rush of blood. Her entire body vibrated with renewed energy.

 

* * *

 

 

Her lips brushed softly against his. A moment later he felt her breath on his ear, heard her voice softly saying his name.

 _“Jack._ ”

Her fingers lightly caressed his cheek and jaw. It was a pleasant dream and one he was in no hurry to wake from.

She had other ideas.

“Jack!”

The tone was more insistent this time and accompanied by an annoying poke in the ribs.

“Wake up!”

He cracked open an eye and blinked. The room was brightly lit and she was bent low over him.

His first coherent thought was that she was beautiful. His second, that she’d once again snuck into his room in broad daylight.

He sat up, forcing her to give way a little.

“What time is it?”

“Nearly seven. What happened to my early riser?”

“I got to bed late. You’ve really got to stop sneaking up here,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“The window was open,” she replied.

“That’s not an invitation.”

“Isn’t it?” Her eyebrow quirked up.

He smiled at her and reached around her waist, pulling her down onto the bed and pinning her underneath him. She laughed and he covered her mouth with his to quiet her.

Once she was sufficiently subdued he moved on to her neck, peppering kisses down to her collarbone.

Her hands threaded up into his hair and she sighed happily.

“As lovely as this is, we don’t really have the time right now,” she said.

“You’re the one that crept in here and accosted me in my bed.”

“Fair point. Though I object to your use of ‘accosted.’ I was very gentle.”

“There’s a bruise on my ribcage that says otherwise,” he said.

“Have you any more complaints Jack?” she groused.“I’m getting the impression you’re not happy to see me.”

“Really? Allow me to correct that impression,” he said, picking up where he’d left off.

“Seriously, Jack. I need to talk to you,” she said, but she arched her neck in encouragement and her hands roamed over his back, “They might come looking for me at any moment.”

“Didn’t you just get back?” He mumbled against her skin.

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t you get a bit of a break this morning? You were away all night,” he pouted.

“Were you looking for me, Inspector?” She asked, sounding far too pleased and amused.

“It’s my job to know the whereabouts of any persons of interest, Miss Fisher,” he said, solemnly.

“I’m a person of interest?” She sounded delighted.

“Definitely,” he growled, pressing himself to her.

She laughed again. She had an infectious laugh. It was also distinctive.

“Shhh!” he warned, “someone will hear you!”

“You worry too much,” she kissed him on the nose then pushed him away so that she could sit up. “I really do need to speak to you, Jack. I have some new information about Renquist. There’s another victim.”

That threw cold water on his ardor.

“Recent?”

“No. From the same timeframe as the others.”

She filled him in on her encounter with Sarah and what she’d learned about Warren’s possible accomplice.

“They were in it together?” Jack said, his face twisting in disgust.

“So it would seem.”

He could see the emotion in her face and the way she fought to keep her tone even and calm. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her work to keep her own feelings under control.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said softly. He laid a hand over hers.

“Do what?”

“Try to make it less personal. Try to separate yourself from it. I know she’s always on your mind. You don’t have to pretend around me.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, with a sad smile, “but I can’t let myself go there. I can’t think about what she went through or I won’t be able to do this. I can’t be her sister right now. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, wishing there was something he could think to say to make this easier for her. Knowing no such words existed he decided a professional demeanor would best serve her.

“Rathburn. Why do I know that name?” He asked.

“It’s in Janey’s file. He threw the party.”

“Right,” he said. “This woman—she’s sure about who her assailants were?”

“Yes. She knew Rathburn. They were friends. She wouldn’t have mistaken him for anyone else and she said he and Warren were often together.”

“Do you think she will come forward and make an official statement?”

“She’s hesitant. Rathburn is dead and had Warren never returned she’d have been happy to leave it all in the past, but seeing him has brought it back again. I don’t want to push her, Jack, but...”

“You want to see him pay,” he finished for her.

“Yes. And her testimony could be valuable. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“No. I understand how you’re feeling. It’s a hard line to tread. It never feels good to make a victim relive what was often the worst day of their life but sometimes that is what justice requires.”

“But is it too late? Has too much time passed to even bring charges?”

“There’s no statute of limitations on assault. It’s finding the evidence at this stage that’s the challenge.”

“Her memories are quite clear.”

“Not surprising. Trauma has a way of imprinting itself in memory.”

“But it will still be her word against his, won’t it?”

“Not if I do my job right.”

“Meaning?”

“The ‘he said/she said’ argument just means you’ve only talked to two people. It’s sloppy police work. We need to find other witnesses from that party. Someone that can place them together.”

“That won’t be easy this late in the game.”

“It’s never easy. But, you’re right. This one will be harder than most. Since she didn’t report it at the time, the memories won’t be fresh and it doesn’t help that one of the perpetrators is deceased and can’t be interviewed.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Let’s not get discouraged just yet,” he said, hopping out of bed and going to find the case files. He brought them back, kept one for himself and handed one of the others to her.

“What am I looking for? She asked.

“Any mention of this new suspect, Rathburn. There should be a list containing the names of potential witnesses. Look for notes with the initials M.C. at the bottom.”

“Margo?” She asked.

“Yes,” he said. “She did a lot of legwork to track people down and passed any names on to the detectives in charge but most weren’t followed up on.”

“Why not?”

Jack shrugged.

“I think a determination was made not to expend the resources. Even when a decent case is put together, it often won’t be prosecuted because conviction isn’t assured.”

“So just because someone decides it’s too hard, and they don’t want to fail, they don’t even try? How is that justice?”

“It’s not. Listen, I’m not making excuses, but these cases are difficult. The victims are understandably hesitant to come forward. Sometimes they don’t report for days, or even weeks after, and right from the beginning we’re behind in the investigation. Evidence is lost and witnesses are scattered and we’re stretched thin as far as manpower.”

“For someone not making excuses, you make a lot of excuses, Inspector,” she said coldly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He felt her anger and couldn’t blame her. He was angry too.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, softening.

She reached out and covered his hand with hers, giving him a smile so laced with pain it ripped a hole in him.

There were hundreds more like her out there. Thousands, even. Victims, and loved ones of victims, ill-served by a system that didn’t prioritize the crime of sexual assault. Victims ill-served by people like him. People that had promised to protect and serve and had done neither.

With that guilt driving him he bent over the folder once more. They worked in companionable silence for a moment before she called out.

“He’s here! Margo found him, Jack.”

“Rathburn?”

“Even better. Warren.”

“What? How did I miss that?”

“She didn’t talk to him and she got the name wrong. See this?” She turned the file toward him and pointed to line written in Margo’s familiar scrawling hand.

> _Name unconfirmed, possibly Walter. Thought to be exchange student. Seen with victim by several witnesses. Address currently unknown._

“It’s got to be him, right?”

It really wasn’t much. He didn’t want to squash the bud of hope blooming in her but he needed to keep her grounded in reality.

“It’s promising,” he began, “but—”

A knock on the door had them both falling abruptly silent and freezing in place.

“Are you in there Jack?”

They both recognized the voice calling sweetly through the door.

“We’re you expecting company?” Phryne whispered, her eyes wide and mischievous.

Jack shook his head, shrugging.

“One minute,” he called out to his visitor.

He jumped up to find his trousers, jerking his head toward the bath as he stepped into them, but Phryne was already moving in that direction. She paused and ran her eyes over him, frowning slightly.

“What?” He hissed.

She picked up his T-shirt from the chair and tossed it at him.

“She doesn’t need to see all—that,” she said, waving her hands in the general direction of his bare torso. “Put it on,” she ordered, “and wipe that smug smirk off your face.”

He took a step toward her, pulled her to him hard and kissed her soundly, leaving her looking pleased and a little dazed. She nipped at his chin and then slipped inside the bath, partially closing the door behind her.

That she didn’t close it all the way amused him. Anyone else would be concentrating on not being discovered but she was more concerned with being able to listen in.

Chuckling to himself, he pulled the shirt over his head and went to answer the door.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal makes a new move and Phryne and Jack struggle to stay one step ahead.

“Good morning, Inspector.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Jones?”

He kept his hand on the door, holding it only partially open. She looked him up and down. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she took in his bare feet, the faded, loose fitting jeans and worn t-shirt. It was a far cry from his usual buttoned up appearance.

He fought the urge to smooth down his hair. It must look unruly. Only minutes before he’d been enjoying Phryne’s fingers running trough it, her nails scraping lightly on his scalp.

“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Mal,” she chastised, smiling brightly at him. “Did I hear voices?” She tried to peer around him. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“You are,” he said bluntly, and enjoyed watching her flinch, “but I assume there’s a reason for that?”

“There is. I’ve come across something that might be important. Something I think you should see.”

“You’d better come in then,” he said, standing aside to let her pass.

She went straight to the couch, sat down and pulled a laptop from her bag. She looked up at him expectantly.

He shut the door and went to sit by her side. He could feel her eyes on him as he watched the video clip playing on her computer screen. He’d seen a version of it before.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, once it had played through.

“You haven’t seen it?”

“It wasn’t in the footage I was given,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Where did you get it?” He asked again.

“Victoria asked me to find a file that had disappeared from her computer. She’s always accidentally deleting things, so the first place I check is in her trash. That’s where I found this.”

“And you’d never seen it before today?”

“No.”

“Isn’t it your job to view all the hidden camera footage?”

“Yes, but I don’t usually get them until the end of the day so I wouldn’t have had time to review this before it was handed over to you—or, should have been handed over.”

“I find it hard to believe you never went back to look over the footage from that day, Miss Jones. You must have been curious.”

“You’re right. I was and I tried, but Victoria had it all under lock and key.”

“Surprising she was so careless with this then,” Jack said.

“She’s not very computer savvy. When she deleted it, she probably thought it was gone for good.”

She restarted the clip, clucking sadly as it played.

“It looks pretty bad,” she said.

“Which part? The argument or the withholding of evidence?” He wasn’t sure yet who her target was.

“Both, I suppose We’re you aware of the fight?” She asked. “Did she tell you about it when you interviewed her?”

“I can’t discuss the case with you. I appreciate your bringing this to my attention.” He stood and held out his hand but she hesitated to give the little drive to him.

She didn’t make any move to leave. Instead she continued talking. As though she was simply musing out loud rather than reciting what he suspected was a carefully constructed script.

“It looks heated. He seems very angry. I was always worried something like this might happen,” she said.

“Something like what?”

“That her unconventional attitudes would result in hurt feelings and jealousy. Not everyone can handle an open relationship.”

“An open relationship?”

“It’s when a couple is intimate, but non-monogamous.”

“I know what an open relationship is,” Jack said. “Is it your opinion that what we witnessed was a lover’s spat? I wasn’t aware they were intimate.”

She pointed at the screen.

“What other explanation is there? It’s not even a minute after another man has left her room. Chad comes by, finds her barely dressed, and he loses it in a fit of jealously and rage.”

“Compelling scenario,” Jack said, as if it were anything but, “I’m more interested in why your boss would have kept this particular piece of footage from me.”

“That’s easy. Victoria couldn’t afford to have Phryne compromised. If our damsel was accused of murder it would mean the end of the show.”

“Murder? Because she had an argument with the victim? She was far from the only one to argue with Mr. Chestler.”

“Look at the time! If she didn’t go after him, where did she go? She didn’t come out to the courtyard for more than an hour after this. Not until after Chad was found. She was even late for her call time and, for as big a pain as she can be, Phryne is never late. Where does she say she was?”

“Again, I can’t discuss the case.”

“Well, I hope I’m wrong, but Phryne’s behavior lately has been very strange. She’s completely cut me out, become secretive. She’s been hiding something and now it looks like she’s trying to get close to the one man here that has the power to protect her.”

He should have seen this coming. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to adopt a bemused expression.

“And who is that?” He asked.

“Lyle Compton.”

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He hoped his surprise didn’t show but he thought he saw a flicker of triumph cross her face before she continued.

“They spent last night together. In a suite at the Windsor Hotel,” she said. “They’d be a formidable couple. He wants to go into politics, you know, and she could make him look more progressive. She’d open doors for him that he couldn’t get through on his own.”

“And in return he’d help her cover up a murder?”

“I’m sure he doesn’t know about the murder yet. But, they’ll be engaged in a couple of days and after that he’ll move heaven and earth to keep his choice of wife free from scandal. He’ll have his entire political machine and powerful friends to sweep everything under the rug.”

“You’re a credit to your occupation, Miss Jones,” Jack said, sounding thoroughly entertained.

“What do you mean?”

“Ever heard of Occam’s Razor? The simplest solution tends to be the right one. I realize it might not make for great TV but I find it true more often than not.”

“You think there’s nothing to all of this?”

“I’m sure there is something to it all but it’s _my_ job to find out what. Don’t go playing amateur detective, Miss Jones. There’s a murderer at large and I don’t want to see you in harm’s way.”

“Maybe I am letting my imagination run wild. I hope I am. I like Phryne,” she said, “and I promise I’ll stay out of it. I trust you to get to the bottom of things, Inspector.”

He smiled at the false flattery and held out his hand again. This time she turned the drive over to him.

“Victoria will assume I gave this to you but if there’s any way you could avoid confirming that, I’d appreciate it,” she said.

“What have I been saying, Miss Jones?” He asked with a sly, conspiratorially grin.

“That you can’t discuss the case,” she said, returning his smile.

“Exactly.”

As if she were somehow prescient, Victoria’s voice suddenly blared over the walkie-talkie on Mal’s belt.

 _“Mal! Where are you? I need you._ ”

“Coming!” Mal answered, rushing to put away her things before hopping up and hurrying to the door.

“You promise you won’t tell her where you got it?” She asked, blinking big doe eyes in Jack’s direction.

“It will be our secret,” he said.

* * *

 

He was staring at the closed door with his back turned when she came out from her hiding place.

“She’s good, isn’t she,” she said, quietly. He turned to her.

“She is.”

“May I see it?”

To his credit he didn’t object out of some chivalrous attempt to shield her from it. He opened his laptop, inserted the drive and stepped back allowing her to watch in relative privacy.

She watched herself argue with Chad. There are several frames where Mal had cropped the frame to close in her face. The anger in it was clear. And after Chad left the room, the part where she raged, banging her fists against the door appeared to have been looped to look longer.

“I look apoplectic.”

The Phryne on screen dropped down on the bed but got up almost immediately and hurried to dress before rushing out the door.

“She cut the part where I fell asleep! I was rushing because I was late to the set but it looks like I went chasing after him!”

“Yes. I think I’m supposed to conclude that you caught up with him in his room, the fight escalated, and you killed him.”

“I guess we can add film editing to Mal’s considerable list of talents."

“This doesn’t make sense,” he said. “Why would she want me to think you killed Chad? They just aired an episode trying to push as a couple.”

“It might have something to do with last night,” she said. “I didn’t sleep with Lyle, by the way. He spent the night in my suite but he slept on the couch.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“Don’t you even want to know why?”

“It’s not my business.”

His answer was one she’d normally appreciate but at the moment it rankled.

“It’s not really about Compton, anyway,” he said, “It’s about me. She wanted to see how I’d react.”

“She must have been disappointed,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Does that bother you?” He laughed. “Would you prefer I behave more jealously?”

“No, but you needn’t be quite so indifferent either. At least let me explain myself when I offer to. I’d think you’d want all the information possible.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry I stopped you. Tell me about last night, but only as much as you want to.”

“For god’s sake, Jack! I’ll tell you all. I’ve nothing to hide.”

She explained that, as the night ended, it was clear Lyle expected an invitation to her room.

“Though he’d done nothing to earn it,” she snorted, “it’s a testament to the man’s ego that he even thought it a possibility.”

“And yet you offered the invitation.”

“It seemed the prudent thing to do. I had no intention of letting him past the sitting room, or anything else for that matter,” she said, with a pointed look. “The evening had not left me in an amorous state of mind.”

“Happy to hear it,” he said.

She raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I said it was none of my business, Miss Fisher. I didn’t say I wasn’t bothered.”

“So you _were_ jealous?”

He tilted his head to the side, his lips curving down slightly at the corners. The Jack Robinson equivalent of a shrug.

“Let’s put a pin in that. Shall we, Inspector?” She said, smiling at him. “Lyle wasn’t thrilled by the rejection but, after I pointed out that he hadn’t put his best foot forward romance wise, he came to see the sense in the subterfuge. I didn’t want his last appearance on the show to end with him looking so poorly. It wouldn’t help his ambitions for the future.”

“That was kind of you.”

“I wasn’t being entirely selfless. I was also hoping that if it looked like I was sleeping with him they’d be satisfied and leave you alone.”

“You did it for me?”

“I did it for us. I’m not particularly interested in having my relationships play out on national television—and you don’t have to say it—I heard myself.”

“Well, I hope it works and at least puts an end to this Phrack nonsense.”

“Phrack?” she asked.

“It stands for Phryne and Jack. That’s what they’re calling us online,” he said, blushing adorably.

She let out a guffaw and then slapped her hand over her mouth. The window was open. He gave her an admonishing look and closed it.

“Of course you’d find it funny,” he complained.

“It is funny.”

“Apparently. You’re not the only one laughing.”

“Oh, darling,” she said, slipping her arms around his neck. She was far more used to this type of publicity than he. Sometimes she forgot that. “I am sorry. I did try to nip it in the bud. But, now I’m afraid my plan has backfired.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve spoiled her plans for us. I can’t very well be setting my cap for you if I’m sleeping with other men and now she’s gone and devised another scheme that might be even worse.”

“Setting your cap for me? What century are we in?” His mirth was barely contained. At least she'd improved his mood.

“Oh, shut up. You really need to start taking Mal more seriously, Jack. She’s dangerous.”

“She’s transparent, Phryne. And she’s got nothing. She must know the evidence will bear out your innocence. I don’t see the point of this entire exercise.”

“She doesn’t know you have the full footage.”

“True, but still, that fight isn’t enough to make a convincing argument for your guilt.”

“But you can’t very well ignore it. She’s got you boxed into a corner. If you don’t act on it, she can make a convincing argument that you’re protecting me.”

“How does that serve her purpose? For that matter, what is her purpose? And why has she thrown her boss under the bus? She said Victoria hid this to protect the show. Does Mal want the show shut down?”

“I can’t see how that helps her. The failure of this show would certainly put the breaks on the spin-off she was hoping to produce. Of course, with Chad’s death she’s already lost a chunk of her funding, so maybe—”

“I forgot to tell you!” Jack interrupted. “Mal wasn’t the one pushing the new show at the network. It was Victoria.”

“Victoria?”

“That’s what my sergeant tells me. Victoria approached the network recently with the idea of a spin-off show using past _Happy Ever After_ participants gathered on a desert island looking for love.”

“That sounds just like the show treatment Meg saw on Mal’s computer. She said it was called _The Last Resort_.”

“This one’s going to be called _Last Chance Romance_.”

“Has it been green-lit?”

“If that means they’re going ahead with it, then yes. Victoria is to be the Executive Producer.”

“That’s interesting. With _Happy Ever After_ and the new show Victoria would be on her way to a nice little franchise.”

“It’s possible Mal brought the idea to her boss and they were planning to make the show together,” Jack said, “but I’m guessing that’s not the case, or Mal wouldn’t be trying to blow up the flagship.”

“Maybe she’s hoping for more of a mutiny than a sinking. If Victoria gets in legal trouble for interfering in the investigation, Mal can convince the network she should take her place at the helm.”

“Why now? She’s had this footage since day one. And, speaking of that, I’ve never understood why it was kept from me in the first place. The unaltered footage clearly shows you sleeping during the murder. It wasn’t at all damaging to you or the show.”

“That’s it!” Phryne said. “The _unaltered_ footage! Victoria hasn’t seen the real footage, Jack! She’s only seen this version!” She pointed to his computer screen.

He blinked at her, the gears clicking into place and she knew he was on the same page.

“I’m convinced now,” she said. “Mal killed Chad, Jack. I'm not entirely sure why yet. Maybe they argued, but she killed him, and then she needed somewhere else to put the blame. She altered this footage that very night to point you in the wrong direction.”

“Why pick you? Everyone hated the man, she had plenty of choices.”

“She’s never liked me,” Phryne shrugged, earning her a withering glance. “She picked me because I was the only choice that would also spell doom for the show. She was trying to kill two birds with one stone—or three, if you count Chad.”

That one got her an eye roll and a groan.

“Now who's not taking things seriously?”

“Point taken,” she said. “At least we know Mal wasn’t lying about one thing. Victoria withheld that footage for exactly the reason Mal said. She knew it would be the end of the show. Mal must have been hoping to get it to you without her boss seeing it. When she failed, and Victoria held it back, she looked for other ways to sabotage the show. Rene, for one. And our supposed love affair."

“Why bother? If she had this under her belt she could have gone behind Victoria's back to bring it to me at any time. Why wait?" 

“That is curious. There must be a reason. Mal always has a reason.”

“I don’t think we’re going to figure it all out this minute and you should probably get going before they come looking for you.”

“Yes,” she said. She’d stayed far too long. “You will go to Victoria, won’t you? And you’ll need to question me again. If Mal thinks you’re sitting on this, I wouldn’t put it past her to go over your head to cause trouble for you.”

“I've thought of that. I’ll go to Victoria first. It’s the logical move. And I’ll make sure Mal knows I’m talking to her boss, but she doesn’t have to know what we discuss,” he said, cryptically.

“What are you thinking?”

“I need to get to the bottom of this new show—find out whose idea it was, and how and when Victoria first heard of it. I think it’s the key to all of this.”

“Good luck. And I’d better go get ready for my date!” She said with false brightness.

“I’d nearly forgotten that was still happening.”

“It does seem ridiculous, doesn’t it.”

“Who is it today?”

“Cato,” she said, gloomily. He was probably still angry with her. “Perhaps you could just arrest me now?”

He shook his head. “Hang in there. I’ll check on the progress of that DNA test. Maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to put an end to all of this soon.”

“Have you thought about what happens after all of this? When we’re back in the real world?” She asked.

It wasn’t really the time for this but it’d been nagging at her since his comments about the jokes on social media and being laughed at.

“I recall making a promise to take you dancing,” he said, reaching for her and pulling her in for a little spin.

“Listen to me, Jack. This is important. I’ve always had a bit of a media presence. It’s good for business and I’ve courted it. Not a lot, and I’ve always been protective of my private life, but I’m afraid I blew all that up by coming on this show. And when it ends, and my real reasons for being here are known, the attention is only going to get worse.”

“It’s going to be a big story,” he said.

She watched the rock drop. What had ever made her think he was unreadable?

“For awhile, yes. And seeing as they’ve already laid the ground work for a romance, there will be interest in us as well.”

His hands fell and he stepped back from her.

“I’ll understand if it’s too much for you,” she said. 

He shook his head stubbornly and reached for her again, settling his hands on her hips. 

“What was that you said earlier? Let’s stick a pin in this one too,” he said.

She smoothed her hands over his chest. She could already see how this would end once they were dragged into the publicity circus waiting for them. She wished for all the world she’d met him at some other time in her life. A time when finding out how he might fit into it wasn’t so complicated.

“Phryne? There’s no sense worrying about this now,” he said, trying to reassure her. “We’ll deal with it when we have to.”

“Of course,” she said with a smile, but her heart was sinking. He had no idea what was going to hit him if she stayed in his life. He didn’t deserve it and she wouldn’t put him through it.

He opened the window and checked that the coast was clear for her, as he always did.

“I should probably stop these visits,” she said. “We can’t take the risk anymore.”

“We can’t,” he agreed, “but it will all be over soon enough.”

“Yes,” she said.

She leaned up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. She didn’t cling to him like she wanted to, he was getting too good at reading her.

“Goodbye, Jack,” she said.


	33. Chapter 33

Phryne crawled on her hands and knees to the foot of the bed, climbed up, and slithered under the covers to take her place beside the bundle of pillows she’d left as a decoy. The absurdity of the situation only reinforced her decision.

She might be able to hide from the cameras here—at least on occasion—but in the real world things would be worse, not better. She’d be pursued by legitimate media and the gossip rags alike, and it wouldn’t be some made for TV facade on display, it would be her real life.

His real life.

She couldn’t see Jack putting up with that for long.

She wouldn’t like it either but she’d have brought in on herself. She willingly put herself in this fishbowl. All he’d done was have the bad luck to catch this assignment—and then to meet her.

Even if they managed to weather the immediate storm she was never going to be completely out of the public eye, at least within the microcosm that was Melbourne society. She regularly attended events the press covered and was often a target of the photographers. With him by her side that would only increase. It wasn’t vanity to say they’d make a striking couple, it was fact.

And he’d hate it—every flash of the bulb and snide remark from his coworkers. He’d be recognized at crimes scenes. It would impede his work.

He’d come to resent it and he’d come to resent her for the chaos she brought to his life. It was a wretched thought but she didn’t see any other outcome and she didn’t see the point in waiting around for that to happen.

She poked her head out from under the blankets, stretching as though she’d just awoken. This need to playact for the cameras made her blood boil.

At first it had almost been fun trying to outwit her captors and beat them at their own game. Now it just felt like the huge violation it really was and she’d had her fill of it. She wanted to go home.

How she was going to get through these next days was a mystery. If she wasn’t holding out hope for some miracle from the DNA test, or this new information about Renquist’s partner, she’d put an end to all of this right now.

But she’d worked too hard. Sacrificed too much. And Jack had worked too. If she ruined it all now she’d only add to the list of ways she’d disappoint him. She had to hang in, like he’d said. Maybe, when all of this was over, they could still at least be friends.

She might like that. Her stomach lurched. Then again, she might not.

She hugged a pillow tight to her, remembering the way he’d teased her for sneaking in and then tossed her down on the bed and covered her body with his. He’d looked so happy to see her and his body had been so warm, his skin smooth under her hands. She wondered if it’d be easier to let go if they’d made love. If she’d had that with him one more time.

Probably not.

It wasn’t just their physical attraction she would miss, it was the whole of it. She especially enjoyed the way they were working together to uncover the truth. They were a good team. He could be an arrogant bastard at times but he was never condescending. He listened to her and appreciated her insights.

She wasn’t going to easily find another man like him. To be honest, she hadn’t even known she wanted one, before now.

Reluctantly she threw back the covers and headed for the bath. There was no time to wallow in self-pity. She was expected on set and ready to perform in less than an hour. She stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over her, mentally trying to step into the shoes of the damsel.

It was safe to assume Cato had noticed Lyle’s absence last night in the room they now shared. Given his jealous reaction to the mere suggestion she was attracted to another man, she wasn’t looking forward to his opinion on that.

It was all so tiresome. Why should she need to explain herself to him? To anyone?

She was pouting again, feeling sorry for herself. She turned the tap for a quick blast of cold water to shock herself into the proper mindset.

The show must go on.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack heard his phone just as he’d turned off the water. He stepped from the shower and quickly wrapped a towel around his waist.

“Yes, Collins,” he answered, after noting his sergeant’s name on the screen.

“We got the toxicology report back on Chestler,” Hugh said.

Jack put the phone on speaker so he could finish drying himself off.

“Anything unexpected?” He asked. They hadn’t bothered to rush the tests since the coroner had quickly confirmed the cause of death.

“Along with the expected steroids, they found Amphetamine in his system. The concentration was fairly high and probably taken shortly before he died.”

“Was it enough to kill him?”

“Possibly, but it didn’t. The medical examiner isn’t changing cause of death. The blow to the head killed him. He did say that he wasn’t surprised by the quantity of stimulant in the blood. Apparently steroid use will lesson the effect. A regular steroid user like Chestler would have a hard time reaching their high on a normal dose. The M.E. also said that stimulants can increase the aggressive behavior associated with steroid use.”

Jack wondered if the aggression Chestler had shown with Phryne had been drug fueled. He was more grateful than ever the man had backed off. Phryne could hold her own but Chestler had been a large, strong man. Hopped up on steroids and stimulants he would have been more than a match for her.

Hopped up on steroids and stimulants he might also have been aggressive with whomever killed him. Jack could already see the killer’s attorney mounting a self-defense campaign. That argument would be more convincing had the blow not come when Chestler’s back was turned. The placement of the wound made a front facing attack unlikely.

Regardless, it wasn’t Jack’s lot to worry about a possible defense. His job was to find the killer and provide as much conclusive evidence as possible to aid a conviction. The drugs were an interesting development, particularly with regard to how Chestler had come by them in this place, but the news didn’t change Jack’s immediate course of action.

“Can you send me a copy of the report?” He asked.

“Already emailed it to you.”

“Good man.”

“Oh, and the chief asked me to let you know she’s requested a rush on those other tests you wanted run. She’s hoping for something as early as tomorrow.”

“That’s good news. Is she around? I’ve got something else I wanted to discuss with her.”

“She’s in meetings until the afternoon. Is there something I can help with?””

“Not on that front,” Jack said, Phryne’s new information about Renquist’s accomplice would have to wait, “but I could use your help with something else. I need to pin down Mallory Jones’ whereabouts just before and after the murder.”

“Am I looking for anything in particular?”

“I’d rather not say. I don’t want to bias your search. Go through my interview notes. Several people mentioned seeing her around. And watch the footage again. See if you can put together a firm timeline of her movements.”

“Will do.”

If Phryne’s theory was correct, Mal was not only manipulative but also a cold and calculating killer. Someone able to methodically plan a complicated cover-up of her crime merely moments after committing it in a blinding rage.

Did she really have the wherewithal to so quickly invent and carryout such a complex scheme? More importantly, had she had enough time?

Jack ran a comb through his hair and pulled on a pair of briefs before leaving the bathroom. A quick check of his notes confirmed that barely three hours after the estimated time of death, he’d been tucked up in the room they’d found him, watching the film Victoria had provided.

Three hours was more than enough time for Mal to alter the footage, presuming she found it immediately and concocted her plan on the spot.

Or, maybe she hadn’t even needed to search for the perfect footage.

During his interview with Mal she’d said she’d been all over the set that afternoon, including in and out of the control room. Witnesses had more or less confirmed that, but no one could state the locations or times they’d seen her with any specificity.

If she’d been in the control room at the right time, she could easily have seen that confrontation between Phryne and Chad as it occurred, gone directly to Chad’s room and killed him having already decided to use Phryne as her scapegoat.

The problem with that was Jack’s belief, borne out by the evidence, that the murder had not been premeditated. The type of blow delivered, with a murder weapon that was close at hand, suggested a spur of the moment rage, not a carefully planned attack.

Premeditated or not, the timing worked. It was possible, even plausible, that Mal was the murderer. Hopefully Collins would find something to put Mal where they needed her to be.

Still unexplained, however, were Mal’s reasons for showing him the altered footage today. Why had she waited so long? Victoria might have prevented his seeing it that first night but the subsequent delay couldn’t be explained.

Jack had a fleeting wish that Phryne were still here to talk this through with him. She had such a quick and clever mind. She’d help him work through the holes and inconsistencies.

He wondered if it would still be like that when this was over. Would she still be interested in discussing his cases when they no longer concerned her directly? He hoped she would.

His work was a large part of who he was and he’d never been good at leaving it at the office.

It had been a bone of contention in his marriage. When he was on a case he became a little single-minded.

Focused, he called it.

His wife called it obsessed.

Rosie’s father was a cop. A detective, like Jack, before rising higher in the ranks.

They’d had a strict rule in the house she grew up in that her father’s work was left at the door when he came home. Rosie had thought that it a smart way to live. Jack had struggled with it.

It wasn’t that he could never think of anything else, but when he was in the middle of an investigation it was always there, in the back of his mind, and it would surface at the odd moment. They’d be watching a film or out to dinner and a solution to a question he’d had, or a sudden insight, would pop into his head.

When that happened, he’d need to speak to someone or at least get it down on paper before it could slip away.

Rosie resented the disruptions. There were too many movies she’d finished alone and restaurants where she’d watched his food grow cold because he’d stepped out to make a call. She said he was never fully present with her. She wasn’t wrong, but try as he might (and if he were being honest he could’ve tried harder), he couldn’t change.

His wasn’t a nine-to-five job, he’d argue. She’d say that he was being arrogant and over-estimating his importance to the investigation. She probably wasn’t wrong there either.

In the end—for far more reasons than just these—they’d called it quits and he’d moved out to an apartment, leaving her the house she loved.

They were still friendly but it had taken him some time to get over losing her and to let himself off the hook for not trying harder. Relationships, he acknowledged, were a two way street and there was blame to share on both sides.

He’d dated a bit in the last two years but never allowed himself to get serious. He was still focused (perhaps overly so) and arrogant (just a little, he hoped) but he was good at his job and he didn’t know how to do it any differently. He wasn’t going to change.

He’d thought it too much to dream that he could find a partner that might know all of this about him and still put up with him. Still want him.

Now he found himself hoping it was possible. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this smitten.

But, he was getting ahead of himself. They’d only just met and the circumstances were less than ideal. They wouldn’t really know how this could work until they tried it out in the real world and that couldn’t happen until he closed this case.

With Collins at work trying to build a timeline that might fit his new theory about Mal, Jack turned his attention to his meeting with Victoria.

She was a smart woman with a strong sense of self-preservation. She wouldn’t be easy to trip up.

If ever there was a time he’d prefer to know the answers before asking his questions, this was it.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has her final date with Cato. Some demons are laid to rest while others prove more persistent.

They’d been hiking in the hills for close to an hour. The physical activity meant that an abundance of conversation wasn’t required, but some had been necessary. Even the little they’d attempted had been strained at best. They’d yet to clear the air after their argument and neither of them seemed keen to broach the subject.

The ever present cameramen didn’t help. His prying eyes and constant intrusion was making Phryne increasingly annoyed.

When the path narrowed to the point where they could no longer walk abreast it was a relief to let Cato take the lead. She slowed her step, falling just far enough behind to inhibit the ability to talk.

The lack of conversation wasn’t the respite she’d hoped. It allowed her mind to fill with too many other thoughts. She was running out of time and still didn’t have what she needed to confront Warren. If she didn’t have it by tomorrow, she’d need to go all the way through to the final elimination.

It helped to know that Jack would be pursuing the evidence in her absence. She didn’t know what she’d have done if he hadn’t come along. It was clear to her now that she’d never have succeeded on her own. There wouldn’t have been enough time with all the distractions and the subterfuge her appearance on the show required. Now they were down to the wire and even with Jack’s help, there was no guarantee of success.

If she didn’t need to bide more time in the hopes of finding that smoking gun, she’d end this date with Cato now and get back to where she wanted to be. By Jack’s side, trying to solve his case and her own. But she’d made a decision to back away from him and she meant to keep it. And she owed better than a quick brush off to Cato as well.

She may have been here under false pretenses but the people she’d met were real, as were the relationships she’d forged with them, Cato most of all. She knew she’d regret leaving things with him as they now stood.

She picked up her pace to catch up with him, ready to say whatever needed to be said to break this horrible tension, when they suddenly stepped through some thick brush and into a clearing.

Phryne lifted her head and gasped.

“Beautiful,” Cato said, whether to her or just as a statement of fact, she’d couldn’t tell.

It was beautiful but that wasn’t what had made her gasp. She’d been here before. On the opposite shore of this picturesque little lake. This was _their_ spot.

She couldn’t tear her eyes from the tree. She could picture them there. Jack spreading the blanket at the roots and sitting by her side. The ease of that afternoon was a stark contrast to today’s tension and the ghost of that first kiss hung heavy in the air.

“Yes. It’s lovely,” she said, testing her voice to see if any words could make it out over the lump in her throat.

She must have sounded relatively normal because Cato turned toward her with a smile, something that had been in short supply so far.

“I wonder how long it took them to set that up,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“The tree?” She asked in confusion.

“The tent,” he said, pointing over her shoulder.

She turned and felt her cheeks growing warmer. How had she not seen it? It was enormous.

“I usually carry my tent on my back, or use a bedroll out in the open, but I guess they wanted something a bit more spectacular for the show,” Cato said.

“So it would seem,” she said thinly. If she’d thought this day couldn’t get more awkward, she’d been wrong. She known the point was to stay the night but the thought of doing that here, in this clearly extravagant and romantic setting was a slap in the face.

She wondered if this location had been chosen intentionally to throw her off her game but decided that wasn’t possible. If the producers, Mal in particular, knew the details of that earlier afternoon this is not how they’d use the information. It wasn’t nearly diabolical enough.

It had to be a coincidence.

She told herself it was just a lake, like thousands of other. It was bad enough that he was popping into her head at the slightest reminder. How did she ever hope to quit the man if she now started assigning stupidly romantic significance to random geographical locations?

She headed for the tent, letting Cato fall in at her side so that they could enter it together.

It felt as though they were walking into a picture from one of those internet travel sites that featured the kind of glamorous destinations most people couldn’t dream of affording. It was something out of a movie. The perfect setting for this fiction that was currently her reality.

The enormous white canvas tent sat on redwood planks that extended out the front to form a small front porch. There was a dining table outside the entrance, just big enough for two. It was draped in white linen, set with fine china and silver, and flanked by director’s chairs. At the center was a candelabra fitted with elegant, white tapered candles.

Passing through the parted canvas they saw that the interior was the size of a decent studio apartment. A tent within a tent housed a separate bath, complete with shower and hot and cold running water.

Everything they needed for a comfortable stay had been provided. Their overnight bags were already unpacked with all their items neatly folded into a small wardrobe in the corner of the tent.

And then there was the bed. Luxuriously outfitted with crisp sheets and a fluffy doona, it nearly filled the room. To no one’s surprise, there was only the one.

“Not very subtle, are they,” Cato said.

They’d always laughed together at the show’s more obvious manipulative ploys and she got the impression he was trying to get them back to that place. Clearly he wanted to move beyond this awkwardness just as much as she did.

“They never are,” she said, giving him a small smile.

“No, and you’d think by now I’d have seen through it. I owe you an apology,” he said. “I was horrible to you the other day. I let idle gossip stir me to a pathetic display of machismo that should have been beneath me.”

“It is beneath you, but they’re very good at their jobs. I never meant to hurt you, Cato,” she said. “I tried to be as honest with you as I could.”

“I know. You were honest with me. We were honest with each other but I let other voices get in my head. Voices that were telling me I was being made a fool. Normally I wouldn’t listen to that but it’s amazing what being surrounded by negativity and duplicity can do to a mind.”

“Yes. They are very good at sowing discord.”

“They are,” he agreed. “Did you know they have us all in one room now? To ensure we are very much aware of each others comings and goings.”

“And are you aware?” she asked warily.

“It was impossible to miss that one bed was not slept in last night but I don’t think it had the effect they were hoping it would—at least not on me.”

“Oh?”

“After our argument I spent some time in meditation to rid my body of the toxins I’d let in. This is a unique situation we are in, and not a good one. Too much of what happens here is fabricated, but our friendship, our connection, is real and if that’s the only good thing to come of this time, that’s enough. I hope I haven’t ruined that.”

“What’s a little argument between friends?” She said.

She laid her hand on his cheek, trying to convey how grateful she was for this gentle soul. The only one here that hadn’t wanted something from her other than a genuine human connection.

“Are we still friends?” He asked.

“We are always that,” she said. “I’m glad they haven’t changed you, Cato.”

She’d been afraid, after his uncharacteristic outburst, that this place had altered him. That his time on this show had cost him too much.

It had cost all of them something. A little piece of their souls. It was impossible to live in this environment, under constant watch by people looking to exploit your every fear and foible without some damage to the psyche.

She was heartily sick of it. Sick of always being on guard. Always shoring up the facade against cracks and signs of weakness. She wasn’t going to have it anymore.

She headed to the wardrobe and began rummaging through the drawers.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Cato asked

“No. It’s hot and there’s a lovely lake outside. I’m going swimming.”

She found her bikini, changed quickly and headed to the lake to contend with demons of her own making. It was just a swimming hole. It held no magic over her.

She walked purposefully into the water and dove under. Surfacing, she rolled onto her back letting the water hold her aloft. Immediately she knew she was a fool.

There had been magic here. Real magic. Not manufactured or manipulated. A small slice of reality in an otherwise fictional realm. And the memory of it wouldn’t be stopped.

The way he’d unselfconsciously stripped out of his clothes and followed her into the water was vivid in her memory. She’d been impressed by his body but more so by how comfortable he was in his own skin.

He was an unapologetic, confident man who knew himself well. He didn’t hide or pretend and he didn’t play games.

After that first kiss he’d let her take the lead but he’d made clear what he wanted, should she decide to move ahead with him.

He wanted a shot at holding her heart and the chance to trust her with his own. He’d been more straightforward about it than any of the other man that were supposedly here for that very same purpose. She’d found it intriguing. Exciting. And she’d agreed to the terms.

It wasn’t very fair of her to be changing the rules now, without so much as a word to him.

She heard a splash and let her legs drop down, treading water and watching as Cato swam nearer.

“Mind if I join you?”

“I’m glad of the company,” she said.

The tension between them had eased but he didn’t attempt any increased intimacy. That part of their relationship had run its course, or maybe he felt the other man swimming alongside them. Either way, he kept a respectable distance.

When she grew cold she left the water and sat on the shore, hugging her knees to her chest and letting the sun warm her. He came to sit by quietly by her side. After a minute he laid back against the grass, his hand folded behind his head.

“I really have come to my senses, you know,” he said.

“What?”

“I’m not going to lash out at you again.”

“I know that.”

“Then will you relax?”

“I’m perfectly relaxed.”

“You’re wound so tight you’re about to spin away. Let me help.” He got on his knees behind her and began massaging her shoulders. She shifted to sit cross-legged and let her arms fall to her side. “There. I can feel the tension leaving you already.”

He sat down behind her, his legs stretched in front of him straddling her hips. His hands continued to work at loosening the knots in her shoulders. He didn’t ask any questions or push her to open up to him.

He was quite a good masseuse. He knew all the right places to poke and prod and she could feel herself unwinding.

“You’re very skilled. Have you had training?”

“Not formally,” he said. “One of the benefits of a nomadic existence is learning things along the way. People are always interested in passing on their knowledge.”

“Tell me some stories about your travels,” she said.

He obliged her and she was happy to have the distraction. The rest of the afternoon passed quickly.

Cato might be nomadic but he was not a loner. He was a very social being at heart and he had a remarkable ability to quickly connect with others. He’d done so with her from the start. That early foundation served them well now and she was reminded of why she’d always been most comfortable with him of all the men.

When the chill in the air made remaining outside uncomfortable, she invited him into the tent and sent the cameras away just as she’d done at the hotel with Lyle the previous night.

She was ready immediately to explain her thinking to avoid the kind of misunderstanding she’d had the night before, but as soon as they were inside and alone, Cato crossed the room, threw himself onto the bed and laid back with his hands behind his head.

“Is this your plan then? Drive them crazy by letting all of us spend the night? As long as they can’t see what doesn’t go on behind closed doors you can keep them guessing?”

His grin was wide and there was no animosity in his tone.

“I was going to explain myself. I wasn’t trying to mislead you,” she said.

“You haven’t. I can tell when a woman does, or in this case, does not want me and it’s honestly a relief to have my suspicions about last night confirmed. I’ve learned my lesson about jealousy but I’d have been disappointed if you couldn’t see through Lyle Compton.”

“What did he tell you about last night?”

“Not much, but he was more than happy to let everyone think what they would. He seemed to particularly enjoy watching Warren sulk.”

“Well, at least he’s happy,” she said.

“It’s not just about propping up egos, is it?”

“You know me better. I’m not that selfless.”

“Good. I’d hate it if you thought mine so fragile.”

“There was an element of face saving for Lyle’s sake but not for you. For you I just wanted a more honest ending, if that makes sense.”

“A chance to say goodbye away from prying eyes?”

“Something like that. You’ve been a lifeline for me here, Cato. One of few people that was authentic and allowed me to be authentic too. I wanted to thank you, that’s all. What happens now is entirely up to you. If you want to go, we can head outside to the cameras and make it all official right now.”

“I suppose we have to give them our big breakup scene at some point. Do you want it to be now?”

“For purely selfish reasons I’d rather not return to the castle tonight.”

He sat up in the bed and leaned back against the headboard, patting the mattress beside him.

“Then we’ll stay here and maybe you’ll tell me what’s back there that you’re so afraid to face. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack confronts Victoria about her collaboration with his murder victim.

Jack was only half sure of the approach he planned to take when he reached Victoria’s office. The video footage Mal had shown him was a concern but it felt more like a distraction than an important piece of the investigation.

For some time now he’d thought the proposed new show played a key role in Chestler’s death. A number of people had mentioned hearing something of it. Chestler himself apparently told Warren Renquist of his plans, going so far as to promise him inclusion.

Then there was the crew member that had told Phryne she’d seen a similar show treatment on Mallory Jones’ computer. Finally, and most firmly established, was the information from the network confirming negotiations with Victoria on a new show.

Jack needed to verify who had originally come up with the idea (his money was on Mal) and the path it had taken to the network.

Victoria was the only substantiated link. Everything else was hearsay.

As compelling as Phryne’s theory was that Mal was the originator, and all that came after were her attempts to seek revenge on the people that had stolen her idea—Chad and Victoria—it was only a theory.

He couldn’t blame her for being so certain of Mal’s guilt. The woman had been no friend to Phryne and now it looked like she was adding insult to injury by implicating her in the murder.

Jack, while having no trouble believing Mal capable of every one of Phryne’s accusations, needed proof of guilt before he could settle firmly on her.

If the timeline of Mal’s movements Hugh was currently constructing provided her with the necessary opportunity, he’d be one step closer to that proof. Until then, he’d need to tread carefully, which meant holding what evidence he had close to the vest.

By the time he reached Victoria’s office he’d decided to begin by getting her side of the story regarding this new reality dating show. Whether or not he’d bring up Mal’s little directorial debut, he didn’t yet know.

Victoria easily admitted to her collaboration with Chestler and was so keen to discuss the new show that she kept veering off onto unnecessary tangents.

“It’s a great idea. I wish I’d thought of it myself. The best part is you’ve got an entire pool of screen-tested participants to choose from, many with a ready made fan base from their time on _Happy Ever After_.”

Jack got the impression she’d been bursting to talk to someone about it. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t interested in the details. This new show sounded as stupid as the current one.

“Chestler is the one that brought the concept to you?” He asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

“Shocking, I know. Who’d have thought beauty had any brains?” Victoria snorted.

“Why would he bring it to you rather than taking it directly to the network?”

“He needed me to deal with the execs. His status in the industry isn’t great. He had money and connections that initially opened doors but he’s gained a reputation as not being worth the trouble. Plus, linking it to this show helped grease the wheels.”

“You were able to convince the network to work with him?”

“We were on our way to a deal. They want the show and he comes with it—or, he did.”

“On your way? I’d heard the show had already received the go-ahead.”

“It had, for the most part. There was still one sticking point. Chad was insisting on staring as the host. Apparently, he’d got a taste for appearing in front of the camera.”

“Did he have the necessary skill for that?”

“Have you seen the host of this show? Skill is not a word I associate with the job. All Chad needed to do was look good and try not to sound too stupid. As far as I was concerned he filled the first requirement well enough to take a chance on the second. With good editing we’d be fine. The network wasn’t sure. They wanted Kurt. For continuity,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He nodded, scribbling a note in his pad. He always recorded his interviews but kept in the habit of jotting down anything he thought of particular importance in the moment. Most of what she was telling him was old news, but Chestler’s desire to star in the new show was something he’d not heard before.

“What happens now that he’s gone?”

“I suppose we’re stuck with Kurt,” she grimaced. “If we can go ahead at all.”

“You might not?”

“With no studio attached, Chad was the bank. He’d signed all the papers so it’s believed his estate will be responsible but that’s not a sure thing and we were fast-tracking this in order to capitalize on the success of _Happy Ever After_. We don’t have a lot of time to mess about,” she said. “Let’s just say things are a little up in the air right now."

“Couldn’t you cover his part of the financing?”

She laughed. “Do you know how much it takes to launch a show? Even one done as cheaply as this one? I work for a living, Jack. Without Chad’s trust fund, we might be screwed."

If Victoria didn’t already have a solid alibi, this would be enough to convince Jack she couldn’t be the killer. She needed Chestler.

Chad’s money also explained why Mal might have gone to him with the idea rather than taking it to her mentor. That had never really made sense to Jack. Victoria had far more clout with the network than Chestler, but apparently money trumps clout.

“When did Chestler first bring this idea to you?”

“It must have been shortly after we started filming this season.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“There’s probably something on my calendar,” Victoria said vaguely, but she made no move to look.

“Then check it,” Jack barked.

“Roger that,” she said, snapping to attention and saluting, her eyes flashing with good humor. “You’re not big on asking politely, are you, Jack? Not gonna lie—it kinda turns me on.” She punched a few keys while scanning her computer monitor.

“I remember he cornered me on my way out one night. I set up a lunch with a friend at the network soon after.” She spun the screen around so that he could see it and pointed to a date. “That’s the lunch meeting, so he’d have first approached me a day to two prior. Will that do?” She asked sweetly.

“How do you know this is the right entry? There’s no reference to Chestler or a new show.”

“I color code all my projects. I used purple for this one. There’s no reference because I’m not the only one with access to my calendar and I wanted to keep this quiet.”

Jack nodded, taking a moment to jot down the relevant dates and her explanation. He took another glance at the computer screen and saw at least two other notations written in purple in recent weeks. Both were just indications of a meeting without specifics that might give away the topic.

The first notation had indeed been early in the production of _Happy Ever After_. It was also before the cameras in Chestler room had started being routinely shut off. If Mal was the one behind that, her liaisons with Chad had continued after he’d begun negotiations with Victoria.

“Who else did you discuss the new show with?”

“No one. As I said, I was keeping it under wraps.”

“But, you must have had to meet with Chestler occasionally,” Jack said. “How did you manage that without it being noticed?”

“I’d have him called to my office,” she replied. “It’s not completely unheard of for me to meet with contestants on occasion so no one would question it as long as I kept it to a minimum.”

“You always met in your office? Never his room?”

“People come to me, Inspector. I do not go to them, Besides, with all the cameras, I couldn’t risk being caught on film entering his room. That definitely would have raised questions.”

“Couldn’t you just turn the cameras off?”

“I have a highly competent and efficient assistant in charge of cataloging that footage. That would not have gone unnoticed.”

“You’re talking about Miss Jones.”

“Nothing gets by Mal.”

“You’ve not even told her of these plans for a new show? I thought she was your right-hand man.”

“I wanted to bring her in. It certainly would’ve been easier than all this cloak and dagger crap but Chad was adamant about working with no one but me. He said he’d take the show elsewhere if I involved Mal.”

“Didn’t you find that odd?”

“Did I find it odd that a mediocre man felt threatened by an obviously smarter and more talented woman?”

“You think he felt threatened by Miss Jones?”

“What else could it be? She’s going places in this industry and he has to beg and throw his money around to even get through the door.”

“You seem to think very little of the man.”

“He was a misogynistic idiot.”

“And yet he came up with what you’ve said yourself is a brilliant idea.”

“The idea is easy. And, honestly, not terribly original, especially in the barebones form he brought me.”

“Barebones?”

“His plan was rough and his ideas for execution bordered on pornographic. He didn’t have what it takes to plan and implement a successful show. Finding the right contestants, telling their stories in a compelling way, takes a certain skill set. That’s where you need someone like Mal Jones.”

“She’s that good?”

“Let me put it this way: now that Chad’s out of the picture, I plan to persuade the network to let her run the new show—if it gets off the ground,” Victoria said.

“Have you told her this?”

“Not yet. This season has been rocky enough. I don’t want to split her focus.”

Jack couldn’t help but think that if she’d brought Mal in from the beginning things might have turned out very differently.

He turned to his notebook, flipping through the pages but not looking for anything in particular. He found that a pause in questioning, followed by a shift in direction, often served to break a witness’s rhythm.

“You last saw the victim shortly before his death. You met with him here in your office. Is that correct?” He knew this much from his initial interview with her.

“He sat right where you are sitting, Inspector,” she confirmed.

“Miss Jones has corroborated your account. She stated that you asked her to bring Mr. Chestler to you in order to discuss some concerns regarding his appearance on _Happy Ever After_. You gave the same reason for that meeting in your interview,” he said, looking down and pretending to consult his notes.

He closed the notebook and looked up, meeting her eye to eye. “Given what we just discussed, is there anything you’d like to add to your initial statement?”

“My what?” Her brows rose, her eyes wide and innocent.

“I’ll remind you that anything you’ve told me in the past—or neglected to tell me—can be used in evidence. I’m giving you a chance to correct the official record, Miss Quinn. I suggest you take advantage of that. You won’t get it again.”

She’d just told him having Chestler brought to her office was the ploy she’d used to meet in secret with him to discuss the new show. Information that was strikingly absent from her initial statement.

He was giving her this chance to come clean rather than immediately slapping her with an obstruction charge. It wasn’t really a favor, but he didn’t mind if she thought it one. Charging her now would be detrimental to his case because she’d likely lawyer up and then he’d get nothing more from her.

Not surprisingly she decided that appearing cooperative was her best way forward.

“Upon further consideration,” she began, maintaining eye contact while leaning closer to the recording device he’d set on the desk between them at the start of the interview, “my initial interview may have been less than complete. Any omissions were a result of my shock at recent events and were in no way intentionally meant to deceive.”

“Duly noted.”

“I did discuss Mr. Chestler’s appearance on _Happy Ever After_ at that final meeting. That was absolutely true, but there were further discussions as well. Discussions relating to the negotiations for a new joint production project we were working on. I had some papers I needed him to review and sign.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Are there any other _unintentional_ omissions you’d like to correct?”

The memory stick was burning a hole in his pocket. She was a smart, calculating woman. Given what he’d already been able to uncover, she would be considering the likelihood of his having found the missing footage. He half expected her to bring it up now, to avoid more trouble later.

“Nothing comes to mind,” she said.

“All right,” he said, hiding his disappointment in her decision. Despite himself, he liked this woman and would hate having to arrest her. He could appreciate the strength and intelligence it had taken to succeed in this business and didn’t want to be party to her downfall, but she couldn’t say he hadn’t given her every chance.

He moved on. For now.

“Going back to that final meeting with Mr. Chestler. You say there was discussion regarding his appearance on _Happy Ever After_ as well as the new show?”

“Yes.”

“And did that discussion entail his—as Miss Jones has related—‘creating some fireworks’ for an upcoming episode?”

Phryne had thought Chad’s unwelcome visit to her rooms had been put in motion by Victoria. The timing seemed to fit.

“Definitely not. Chad was a loose enough cannon without giving him permission to shake things up.”

“Then Miss Jones misspoke? That’s not the reason you gave her for wanting to see him?”

“No, it is. Mal didn’t lie, but it was just the excuse I made up to get him here. I thought that it might serve to motivate her a little.”

“Motivate Miss Jones? In what way?”

“Mal was Chad’s handler. Implying that I was stepping in would put her on notice.”

“Were you unhappy with her work?” This came as a surprise.

“Dissatisfied would be a better word. I felt she’d been slacking. She seemed less engaged than usual and she was giving in to our damsel’s whims far too easily. I was worried she was losing her edge.”

“Did it work?”

“It’s hard to say what the catalyst was, considering all that came after, but she’s definitely stepped up her game of late. I may have kept the show on the air, but she’s kept it interesting.”

“By bringing on abusive ex-lovers and creating intrigue out of whole cloth?”

“The abusive ex was a misstep.”

“And this storyline that includes me? What do you call that?”

She sat forward in her chair excitedly. “Did you see the latest episode, Inspector? I’m so pleased to hear that! What did you think?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“It did very well in the ratings. And I know your bosses were delighted with the way you were presented. You really should reconsider my offer to join our next season.”

He shouldn’t have brought this up. It was just bitter whining on his part and it was irrelevant. He was about to steer the conversation back on track when her next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Although, if Mal has her way, you won’t be available,” she said cryptically.

“I’m sorry?”

“She has plans for you, Jack. Plans for you and our damsel.” Her grin was wicked.

His curiosity overwhelmed his good sense.

“What kind of plans?”

She knew she had him hooked and sat back in her chair to reel him.

“If Mal has her way, this season of _Happy Ever After_ will end with a shake-up of epic proportions when our damsel rejects every one of her knights and runs off with the handsome interloper.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“She makes a convincing case. Phryne is an open book and you’re surprisingly transparent in your unguarded moments, Jack.”

She turned her attention to her computer, clicking through folders in search of something.

Jack struggled to keep his composure. What she was implying was the nightmare he’d feared from the beginning: they’d make him look like a fool, compromising him and his investigation.

Worse than this fear was the knowledge that he’d opened the door for them. He’d been reckless in his relationship with Phryne—‘unguarded’ as Victoria had more delicately put it—and had no idea what they’d managed to get on film.

“Here it is,” she said. “Would you like to see what she’s put together?”

Having lost the upper hand, Jack hesitated in his response, but just for a moment, before deciding that too much protesting would only serve to amuse Victoria and, as hard as it might be to watch, it was probably best to see just what he was up against.

That said, he didn’t want to look too interested.

“I don’t have time for nonsense,” he said, with as much suffering indifference as he could muster.

“It’s not long,” she promised.

She waved him over, rolling back her chair to make room for him on her side of the desk.

With half an eye on him to gauge his reaction, she started the video. It was a montage of disjointed moments, the images softened around the edges like a dream sequence.

It opened in the courtyard on the day of his arrival shortly after he'd escorted Phryne away from his crime scene. The camera cut from his face to hers, their gazes intent, giving the impression that they were staring directly at each other.

It could easily have been manufactured through clever editing but it wasn’t. Jack could remember the moment distinctly. She’d captivated him from the start, even before he’d realized what was happening to him, and they’d caught it all on camera.

He struggled to keep his breathing calm and even, his eyes impassively on the screen.

Next they were in the gazebo (which likely meant there was no film of that nightcap in the library—a small relief).

He was wearing the biking gear that had got him in such trouble. He watched Phryne place her hand on his arm, gripping tight for leverage as she threw her head back in laughter. The expression on his face was open and animated in a way that was startling to see.

There was no dialogue so Mal had undercut the footage with saccharine music. The scene blurred into one with Phryne by the pool, sitting up and taking notice as he appeared. She called out to him with a wide smile and sparkling eyes. He stopped in his tracks to respond, puffing up slightly, clearly pleased by her attention.

The most dramatic scene was the final one with Dubois. The moment where Jack rushed in had been slowed for added affect. The fear on his face and relief when he found her mostly unscathed is obvious. She collapsed into him, her head dropping to his chest as his arms closed around her.

He didn’t remember that having happened.

It must have been a brief moment of weakness, because he remembered only her strength at that time. Mal had frozen the video there giving the impression that the embrace was a lengthy one.

All of it was a little over the top and could be explained away as deceptive manipulation of actual occurrences. As long as they had nothing else, it wasn’t enough to do any lasting damage. The only time he’d even touched her was to hold her up after she’d been attacked and that was something anyone would’ve done.

He told himself this, and it was likely true, but in his heart he knew that he’d just watched himself falling hard and fast for Phryne Fisher and now needed to think equally hard and fast to explain it away.

The playback stopped and she looked up at him, smiling. “Good, isn’t she?”

He took a deep breath and let it out with a chuckle.

“I know that much of what happens here doesn’t happen organically, and that you enjoy nudging things along, but this is a bit heavy handed,” he said.

“Yeah,” Victoria agreed. “That’s what I told her, but we didn’t manufacture all of it. You two have chemistry. Believe me, that’s hard to fake.”

“Not really,” he said. “I had you pegged as a shrewder woman, Miss Quinn. Just like yours, my job requires a certain amount of manipulation. It’s in my best interest to present myself in a manner designed to get what I want from people.”

“You’re saying it’s an act?”

“And not a terribly difficult one,” he confirmed. “Miss Fisher expects people, men in particular, to find her enchanting. She’d be offended if I didn’t flirt with her, and offended people are not forthcoming.”

“You pretended to like her to get her to talk to you?” She looked at the frozen image on the screen. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“She’s an attractive and charming woman,” he shrugged. “It wasn’t exactly a hardship to pay her attention and it’s not as though I’ve never employed the tactic before. I’m sure you could make a similar film using any number of women on this lot but I’d rather you didn’t. Something like this could jeopardize my investigation.”

“You are an arrogant bastard,” she said, smiling at his easy duplicity. “Just how many of my crew are you stringing along, Jack? And why haven’t you turned your charms on me?”

“I knew you too sharp to fall for it,” he said, locking his eyes on hers and curling his lips up in a sly smile, as though this obvious attempt at flattery was nothing more than an inside joke between them.

“Oh, you are good,” she laughed. “Mal will be disappointed. She thinks you’re in deep and I’m fairly sure Phryne’s half convinced as well.”

“That was the plan,” he said. “I’m serious about you not using this though. I’d consider it a favor. I really don’t need the headache.”

He sat down opposite her, leaning back casually in the chair. He wanted her to think that he considered her his equal, maybe even a conspiratorial partner in all of this.

“I don’t know, Jack,” she said, leaning back and mimicking his posture. “Our remaining candidates are duds and the camera loves you.”

“I’ve got all I need from Miss Fisher. There won’t be any more encounters for you to surreptitiously film. No declarations of love or an elopement. You’ll just have to settle for whoever she picks from the remaining pool of suckers.”

“You’ve got what you need? Does that mean you've ruled her out as the murderer?”

“For some time now,” he said.

“How disappointing.”

“I’d have thought you’d be relieved. Wouldn’t having your damsel locked up spell disaster for the show?”

“Are you kidding? It would have made one hell of an explosive end to the season—and a fantastic lead-in to the documentary about the case. The besotted detective, sucked in by Phryne’s charms only to find out she’d been playing him. Mal even thought you could be so in love as to protect her—but now I’m seeing you cast as the hero. Madly in love but too virtuous to shirk your sworn duty and let a murderer go free.” She spread her hands wide as though pitching him the show. “It all ends with Phryne in prison as our noble, lovelorn, detective moves on and attempts to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.”

“You’ve given this some thought,” he laughed. “I like the hero idea but you can skip the bit where I’m a broken-hearted boob.”

“No can do. That’s the best part. And you’ll have women lining up at your door to comfort you.”

She reached into a drawer in her desk and pulled out a bottle of vodka. She held it up on offer.

He checked his watch, it just going on noon. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“A little liquid lunch?” She said, giving the bottle a shake.

“Unfortunately the boss frowns on that and I’m still on the clock.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, looking around for a glass. The nearest was across the room. She poured a generous portion into her coffee mug rather than getting up to fetch it.

He stood, as if to take his leave. “You never considered pointing me in her direction, did you? That story was little too detailed for you to have come up with just now.”

“I’m sure it won’t surprise you to learn that ‘whodunnit’ is a frequent topic of conversation around here,” she said, “but I want this killer caught. I’d never interfere in the investigation.”

“You never even considered a little sleight of hand? Nothing that would result in any serious miscarriage of justice, but maybe a ‘forgotten’ detail or two to muddy the waters? Some small manipulation of the facts to make things more interesting?”

“Do I strike you as a stupid woman, Jack? I’m not about to risk an obstruction charge.”

“You lied to me once.”

“About the content of a meeting, not the meeting itself. I’m not entirely without principles, Jack and I know the difference between TV and reality. A man was murdered,” she said soberly. “I didn’t keep anything from you that truly mattered. I promise.”

He believed she was sincere. Which threw into question everything Mal had told him about the withheld footage. He slipped his hand into his pocket, closing it around the memory stick. He had a hunch that if he showed it to her now it would be the first time she was seeing it.

For that reason alone he decided to keep it under wraps a bit longer. Seeing it would only send her running to Mal to find out what was behind it all and Jack wanted to know that himself before setting a confrontation in motion.

“And, whatever the outcome, Chad’s death has already made for great TV!” She exclaimed. He blinked at her, bemused by her quick rally from sober reflection to animated excitement.

“Is that so?”

“Our ratings for the last episode were way up and on demand viewing is through the roof! I only hope we can maintain that through the final. Chad’s death is old news now and, as I said, our remaining knights are less than inspiring,” she frowned.

This had to be the oddest murder Jack had ever worked. He was used to dealing with the shock and bereavement that usually accompanied a sudden death. There’d been shock—the poor assistant that found the body had not been able to return to work—but he’d yet to see anyone more than mildly grieved over Chestler’s untimely demise.

Life, very callously in this instance, moved on.

And so must he. Everything Victoria had told him made it more likely that the new show had been Mal’s idea and that Chestler had stolen it. Victoria seemed genuinely unaware of this possibility. Now Jack needed to find out if, and when, Mal had discovered Chester’s betrayal.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to create excitement,” he said, turning away to leave.

“You could help with that,” Victoria called after him. He made the mistake of turning back to her. “It doesn’t have to be the love interest angle,” she said, coming around the desk to implore him at close quarters. “Let us follow you with a camera for a day.”

“You’re already taping all my interviews.”

“We can’t use those. The agreement was that we could film you for the documentary but they’ve been very stingy about what we can air on this show. You could speak to us outside of the actual casework. Nothing too specific, if that’s not allowed. You could just talk about your process in general.”

“I doubt anyone would find that interesting.”

“You’d be surprised, but I don’t care how or what you talk about. You don’t even have to talk! I just need you on screen. The audience wants more of you, Jack.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint them.”

“You asked me for a favor. I’m asking for one in return,” she said, “if we can’t get any new footage, I may be forced to use what we have of you.”

He considered calling her bluff. He’d seen what they had and it wasn’t career ending, especially not if the story he’d spun for her were true and he had no intention of ever seeing Phryne Fisher again after this case.

But he did hope to see her again. Quite a lot of her. Airing of that footage would only serve to put a spotlight on them assuring even more publicity and scrutiny of a future relationship.

Indulging Victoria might benefit the case as well. It could give him access to the remaining cast and crew in a less official, and thus less intimidating, manner. He might be party to gossip or witness to unguarded interactions.

“It can’t interfere with my work and if I think any lines are being crossed I will shut it down immediately,” he said.

“Excellent!” Victoria clapped her hands, pressing her palms together in a way that reminded Jack of a cartoon villain. “I’ll get Mal on the idea. She’ll find an interesting slant, and don’t worry, we’ll make you look good, Jack. We’ll make you a star.”

“Just don’t make me ridiculous.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria isn't being completely honest with Jack. Mal jumps in to help a fellow Associate Producer and may have been caught out of her depth.

Victoria exited out of the video she’d just played for Jack. Her conversation with the Detective Inspector had brought to mind another film.

Except for a couple of flippant (and frankly, drunken) conversations with Mal about how they might use it to bollocks up the investigation she hadn’t thought much about it since the night it was made.

She had been about to dismiss Chad when Mal buzzed the intercom in her office.

“You should get out here. I think you’re going to want to see this,” Mal said.

Victoria hurried to the control room, curious to see what Mal thought so interesting. She could feel Chad on her heels and it had crossed her mind that contestants shouldn’t have access to behind the scenes footage but the image on screen distracted her.

“Sneaky bastard! Where did he come from?”

The feed from Phryne’s room was up on one of the monitors and standing there in a full view of the camera was Cato, caught up in a passionate clinch with Phryne.

He was fully clothed but she wore only a silk robe that clung to her damp skin. Her hair was wet and her feet bare giving the impression she’d just stepped from the bath.

“I didn’t see him come in,” Mal said, her eyes glued to the screen

She heard a disgruntled harrumph and was reminded of Chad’s continuing presence.

“Looks like you’re going to need to step up your game,” she taunted, jabbing him with an elbow.

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an unflattering assessment of Phryne’s taste and behavior.

“Get out of here, asshole. You shouldn’t be seeing any of this,” she pointed to the door and he stormed out.

“Should I scroll back to see if we can find the beginning?” Mal asked.

The pashing on screen had intensified. Hands were roaming and, if there had been sound, Victoria imagined they’d hear some breathy sighs and maybe a moan or two.

“No. Let’s watch it play out. See how far it goes.”

Not far, as it turned out. Before long the embrace ended. With a final caress and a smoldering smile, Phryne sent Cato on his way.

“Was that a lead up to things yet to come or the conclusion of something we missed? Mal asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it.”

“She’ll never tell us,” Mal said. “I’ll scroll back. See if we can spot how long ago he came in.”

“Wait! It looks like he might already be back for more.”

Phryne had barely turned away after closing the door behind Cato when she turned back again, apparently having heard a knock. The smile she wore as she opened the door quickly fell when Chad pushed his way past her into the room.

“What is he—“

It happened quickly.

Victoria heard Mal’s gasp—or maybe it was her own—as they watched Chad yank Phryne’s head back by the hair and forcibly kiss her. Before either of them had time to register what was happening, Phryne had pushed him off and it was over.

“The fuckwit!” Victoria swore. “What does he think he’s doing?”

“Was that your idea of fireworks?” Mal rounded on her angrily.

“Of course not! I didn’t—I would never—is she okay?”

They watched Phryne rage and pound her fists against the door. When she’d exhausted her anger, she shot the bolt and stormed into her bedroom falling onto the bed and curling up into a ball. She was shaking, maybe crying too, but they couldn’t see her face.

“I don’t think she’s hurt. At least not physically. Should I go to her?”

“Let her be.” Victoria was still trying to wrap her head around what they’d just seen. “He just assaulted her,” she said blankly.

“We’ve got to expel him for this, right?” Mal said, sounding unsure. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

“We should,” Victoria said. Expelling Chad would be bad enough but Phryne probably had cause to make a charge against him as well. Victoria couldn’t help worry what that would mean to the negotiations for the new show.

She’d known Chad was an obnoxious ass, especially when it came to woman, but she hadn’t thought him capable of violence.

There was no way the network would want to work with him if they found out about this. He’d be too big a liability. They’d dump the whole project rather than risk the partnership.

“Should I get him back here?” Mal asked.

“Not yet. I’m thinking.” Victoria paced across the floor of trailer. “Nobody knows about this yet but us, right?”

“And them,” Mal said, pointing out the obvious.

“Right, but other than that,” she said, irritated. “What do you think she’s going to do? Will she raise a complaint?”

“I don’t think so,” Mal said thoughtfully. “If she were going to kick up a fuss she’d be doing it already.”

Phryne was on the bed showing no signs of moving but she’d unfurled her body and was now flat on her back staring up at the ceiling.

“So you think she’s going to let it go?”

“I think she’s not going to complain to us. I don’t think she’s going to let it go. Next elimination, Chad’s gone.”

“I can live with that,” Victoria said.

Getting Chad off the show would solve one problem. After that, she could keep him happy as they got the new show off the ground and find a way to push him out later, once they’d got his money. It could work, as long as no one else got wind of this.

“Does anyone at the network ever watch the stuff we send them?”

All CCTV footage technically belonged to the network, and once Mal had gone through it for anything they might use in an upcoming episode, everything was sent on to be archived.

“Not sure,” Mal said.

“We can’t take the chance. I think we need to bury this,” Victoria said.

“Why?”

“We need to let Phryne decide how she wants to deal with this. Maybe she doesn’t want anyone to know. Once the network sees this it will be out of her hands. It would be like taking her power away all over again.”

This was utter bullshit, and a complete abdication of her responsibilities, but Victoria said it with enough conviction to almost convince herself it was the right thing to do.

“We could just erase it,” Mal said, her hand already reaching for the keys.

One thing about Mal—she was a good soldier. Willing to follow orders without asking too many questions.

“No. Don’t erase it. We might need it later—if Phryne decides she wants to pursue some kind of complaint,” Victoria said, though she wanted it more for leverage on Chad than any other reason. “Cut it from the rest of the footage. Put it on one of those little sticks and bring it to me.”

She’d glanced up at the monitor. Phryne appeared to have fallen asleep, apparently not terribly shaken by the encounter. That allowed Victoria’s conscious to ease slightly.

She went back to her office to make a call before heading out to her dinner appointment, putting it from her mind.

A few hours later she was hurrying back to the set to deal with the aftermath of the discovery of Chad’s dead body.

It had been a long night and the next morning she’d hit the ground running, working to keep _Happy Ever After_ on the air. It was days before she even remembered the footage and it occurred to her that it had not been included in the files they’d given police.

She thought about correcting the error but only briefly. Why embarrass Phryne, she reasoned and, as for Chad—well, she’d always been taught that one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, Inspector Robinson was already unhappy with being filmed and looking for ways to put a stop to it. If he kicked up a fuss about the withholding of evidence, sentiment with the police might turn against her, and her hard fought battle to keep the show running would be for naught.

She’d locked the memory stick in a drawer and let it slip her mind.

Now, she pulled it out, holding it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger as though it were a bomb that might explode at the slightest jarring. She set it down on her desktop and spent a few minutes googling phrases like ‘ _penalties for withholding evidence_ ’ and ‘ _obstruction charges_ ’.

She could see two choices before her. She could stick with the status quo and hope Robinson never found out she was in possession of the footage, or call him back immediately, hand it over, and claim to have completely forgotten about it until their conversation called it to mind.

He wouldn’t believe her but she thought he might let her slide. He couldn’t prove she was lying and it’s not as though any real damage had been done to his investigation.

On the other hand, if there hadn’t been any damage to the investigation, what was the point in opening this can of worms now?

Even if Robinson let her slide, he might be angry enough to withdraw his consent to be a bigger part of _Happy Ever After_ , leaving her the impossible task of keeping viewers absorbed with three of the least popular knights ever to make the final round.

She spun the drive on her desk like a top, watching it rotate as she mulled her options.

Only three living people knew of Chad’s assault.

It appeared that Phryne had not mentioned it to Inspector Robinson. If she had, surely he’d have looked for corroboration among the footage and come asking about its absence. He hadn’t.

For that same reason Victoria was sure Mal had said nothing as yet. In keeping her silence this long Mal was party to the withholding and as at risk as Victoria. She’d keep quiet.

Victoria pushed the drive to the edge of her desk and let it fall to the ground Raising her well-heeled foot, the red sole of her ankle boots flashing, she brought her heel down hard on the plastic casing of the drive. For good measure, she stood and stomped down two or three more times until all that remained were splintered plastic pieces and bent metal. She gathered up the detritus and poured it into the bin.

She pressed the button on the intercom that connected her to the control room and called for Mal.

“She’s not here." The somewhat timid sounding answering voice belonged to one of the other APs. Aisha or Chloe. Victoria never could tell them apart if they weren’t standing in front of her.

“Is she still at the remote site?”

“Don’t know. Should I find out?”

Worthless girl. “Nevermind. I’ll call her mobile.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mal had been running around like a chicken without its head all morning.

Victoria’s summons just as she’d been finishing up with Jack had seemed serendipitous, but instead of calling her to her office, the boss had ordered Mal straight to the off-site locale to oversee the preparations.

“I want that tent looking like something out of a movie. Like a fantasy,” Victoria said. “Luxurious and intimate. I want white linens and silver candelabras. The place should scream romance and sex.”

“It’s going to look just like the mock-up,” Mal promised.

“Make sure it does.”

“Before I head out, I need to talk to you about something.”

“I don’t have time right now and neither do you,” Victoria had said.

Mal knew better than to push. And she wasn’t really worried that Jack would get to Vic first. She’d watched enough of his interviews to know how he worked. The man never asked a question until he had a good idea of the answer. Before confronting Victoria about the tape he’d look for something that might confirm Mal’s version of events.

He’d also seek more insight into Phryne’s relationship with Chad, trying to find some explanation for the argument in the footage. Mal imagined that would require looking at every encounter between the two of them since the show began, and possible re-interviewing some of the cast and crew.

This meant that Mal had some time, but she best not leave it too long.

Which is why she was currently regretting having answered Andy's call.  

Every season one Associate Producer drew the short straw and had to manage the problem contestant. It was Andy’s turn this time.

Usually, the problem contestant didn’t last long, making the task of managing him odious, but short-lived. Warren had somehow hung in there and now, after putting up with him for this long, Andy was harboring hopes of somehow steering him all the way to victory. (The AP with the winning knight earned a substantial bonus at the end of the season and Warren was all Andy had left.)

It was a waste of time. Warren was going down not matter what, but Andy was a friend, so when he begged for help, she’d come to his rescue. (Factoring into this benevolent gesture was her knowledge that Andy’s new boyfriend’s uncle was an executive at one of the larger studios in town.)

“Sorry about this,” Andy said, his apology made less sincere by his obvious relief at the cavalry’s arrival. He took her arm and led her into the billiards room where Warren waited. 

“What’s his problem?” she asked.

“He doesn’t like the alterations to his plans for tomorrow.”

“You told him his plans were crap, right?”

“I might not have been quite so blunt. He’s easily offended.”

Mal rolled her eyes. She crossed the room to where Warren was aggressively throwing darts at a board.

“Warren,” she said, gently, “What can I do? What’s bothering you?”

“I’ll tell you what,” he rounded on her, "my total screen time would fit into a commercial break and just when I’m supposed to have an entire day with the focus on me, you want me to change it!”

“Actually,” Mal said, wiping a bit of his spittle from her cheek, “the focus is on Phryne. The focus is always Phryne.”

“This date is supposed to be about me!”

“It’s supposed to be about giving her a glimpse into what life with you might be like once you leave this place.”

“Same thing,” he said, petulantly.

“Is it?”

Sadly, it probably was. Life with Warren would always be all about Warren. Mal glanced at Andy and, with the short-hand they’d developed over years of working together, conveyed that this was a lost cause.

Andy shook his head stubbornly and stepped into the breach once more to make a final plea, silently begging Mal to back him up.

“Warren, the other men planned dates that lend themselves more easily to romance. We just thought that you might like to do the same,” he cajoled. “A day of acting classes might be fun, but this late in the game, I don’t think it’s enough to put you in the final two.”

“But there’s more to it than just the class,” Warren argued. “There’s the open mic part of it too. I’ve done this before and I’m very good. Trust me. I always get a lot of laughs.”

“Do you have any reason to think that Phryne is interested in performing? Will she enjoy these plans?” Mal asked. This was getting ridiculous.

“She’ll enjoy watching me. I’m very good,” he said.

“So you keep saying, but what if the date doesn’t get that far?”

“What do you mean?”

“If Phryne isn’t enjoying herself, there’s nothing stopping her from going home early or even ending things with you on the spot.”

“She has to give me my date first!”

“She doesn’t. This is her show, Warren, and she calls the shots. If she decides she’s had enough and leaves, the cameras will follow. You’ll get no more time on screen.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s what you signed up for.”

He was seething. All his hopes slipping away. “You can’t make me change my plans. I’ll take my chances with Phryne.”

“We all know what’s going on here, Warren. You’ve been bitten by the show-biz bug and you’re hoping to use your appearance on this show as a stepping stone to fame.”

Warren sputtered briefly before jutting out his chin defiantly. “Why shouldn’t I take advantage of what time I have left here?”

“I’m going to be blunt with you,” Mal warned. It was time for some raw honesty. “You don’t have what it takes to make it in this business. If you’re lucky you might find your way to a late night infomercial hawking kitchen products no one needs, but you’ll never be famous. You’re not an actor.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve made it this far by acting like I’m into that stuck up bitch. Even she was fooled.”

“Do you think so?” Mal scoffed. “You don’t make an impression, Warren. You have no presence—on screen or elsewhere. The only explanation I have for why you’re still around is that Phryne’s completely forgotten you’re here.”

“Fuck you.”

“Snappy retort!” she mocked. “Look, this boring and self-serving plan of yours is not happening. If you’re hellbent on wasting our time and money making a showreel to launch your ill-fated career, you’ll do it our way.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means we write the script and you follow it. Show us how talented you are, Warren,” she taunted. “Make us think you give a damn about Phryne Fisher. Make her think it. Try to seduce her.”

“You don’t think I can get her into bed?”

“I’m not talking about putting her to sleep.”

His ego would never let that stand. He'd give in to doing things her way and the inevitable scenery chewing, followed by his ultimate failure, would make for good entertainment.

“I’ll fuck her. Just watch me.”

"I'd love to see you try.” There was no way in hell he'd succeed.

“I'll do more than try. It'll happen. I’ll even get it on film for you—on one condition.”

“Fine. I’ll bite,” she said, out of nothing but curiosity, “what’s this condition?”

“You have to promise me a spot on the new show.”

“We don’t make promises. And I don’t think next season’s damsel is going to find you any more interesting than this season’s has.”

“Not _this_ show. The _new_ one! And being a contestant isn’t good enough. I want to be the host.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any free time I've had lately has been going to working on this story, which means I’ve fallen behind in replying to comments and I want to apologize for that. I have been reading them and I really do appreciate every one! 
> 
> Your enthusiasm is what keeps me going with this thing! Thank you so much for staying with me and letting me know you’re enjoying my story. 
> 
> I’m working hard to get to a resolution so our heroes can be together again!

* * *

 

Jack owed Margo an update. Under normal circumstances they would debrief daily when he was working a case. It wasn’t always a formal thing, sometimes involving nothing more than brief stop in her doorway to impart a bit of info, but being offsite had meant a lapse in that type of up to the minute communication.

She trusted him enough not to be frequently calling him herself, which he appreciated, but he missed their regular back and forth.

It helped him to verbalize his thinking. The simple act of speaking out loud often allowed him to grab hold of something important that had been struggling to rise from deep recesses of his mind.

Margo repeatedly suggested he should work harder to find a regular partner for just this reason. There would be other benefits to be had as well.

Everyone on the force had seen highly successful partnerships in operation. The really good ones were something special.

They almost became an extension of one another—better together than they were apart. They developed a kind of shorthand that allowed them to communicate with a glance. Interrogations ran like a well choreographed dance. Sometimes they even started looking alike, unconsciously adopting each other’s style of dress.

There was currently a partnership in the squad where one of the pair was partial to a certain shade of blue. Over time that same color had crept into the other’s wardrobe to the point where they began showing up to work looking as though they’d coordinated their outfits each day.

But that kind of partnerships was rare, more often found in TV police procedurals than real life.

Jack frequently paired with other detectives on larger cases but he’d never clicked with anyone enough to want to make it a regular thing. More often than not he preferred to work alone. He had Hugh to assist him and, for those times he got too far into his own head, he had Margo.

She answered on the third ring.

“Everyone lies, Margo,” he complained. “I’m used to that, but the people here have raised it to an art form. Every word, every action, is weighed against the benefit or inconvenience to them.”

“Hello to you too, Inspector. Glad to hear you’re getting on well.”

“Sorry. Didn’t call to vent.”

“Sure you did. Go on then. I’ve got a few minutes.”

“I just met with Victoria Quinn. She always answers all my questions but she doesn’t go out of her way to give me the information I need. In fact, she’s actively withheld things from me.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“She admitted as much. So far it’s not been anything critical. She’s careful and I don’t think she’d risk getting in real trouble but I can’t take what she tells me at face value.”

 _‘I didn’t keep anything from you that truly mattered,’_ she’d said, but leaving that determination up to Victoria left the possibility that Jack was missing a great deal of information.

“If she’s being uncooperative then maybe it’s time to stop playing nice. Haul her in here for an interview. Never underestimate the intimidation factor of our interrogation rooms, Jack.”

Jack could see Victoria in one of those dismal rooms, seated in an uncomfortable chair, an imposingly large recording device on the chipped linoleum table top in front of her conspicuously recording her every word.

The florescent lighting was unforgiving and she’d be horrified by her own image staring back at her from the large mirror on the opposite wall. They weren’t always two-way, those mirrors, but people thought they were and it added to their discomfort—which, of course, was the idea.

“I’m going to keep that in my back pocket for now. I mostly got what I needed from her. She admitted she’d been partnering with our victim to get that new show on the air and I’m more convinced than ever that he stole the idea. He went out of his way to keep Mallory Jones out of the loop.”

“It sounds like Miss Jones had a reason to be angry.”

“If she knew about any of this,” he said.

He’d seen nothing to indicate Mal was aware that Chad had stolen her idea, or that she’d told him about it in the first place. There were rumors that they had been meeting, perhaps even having an affair, but for now it was just rumor.

“For argument’s sake, let’s say she did.”

“I'm still not sure I like her for this. I would bet she has far more documentation than he did to prove ownership of the idea. She’d have plenty of other more reasonable avenues to a remedy.”

“This was an act of rage not reason.“

True, but she’s very calculating, I can't see her raging. And I just don’t see what killing him gets her.”

“I know you always like to understand motive, Jack but we already know how he was killed and have a solid window for when. Leave the ‘why’ for now and look at who had opportunity. There has to be a few alibis that don’t hold up. Start there.”

Margo was right and he’d already started down that path. He’d put Hugh onto building a timeline of Mal’s movements but he shouldn’t be focusing so exclusively on her. She wasn’t the only one with a flimsy alibi.

“Good advice, as usual,” he said.

“That’s why I’m the boss. And as the boss, I am also often the bearer of bad news,” she said. “I just heard from the lab on that DNA test.”

“And?”

“The sample you got from Renquist was fine but the one from the rape kit was degraded. Apparently it wasn’t properly stored. It doesn’t look like they’ll be able to get a complete profile. We won’t be able to compare the two.”

It hit him hard. They’d hung their hopes on this.

“That kit should have been tested years ago,” he bitched. “We should have already had a completed DNA profile to match against the new sample.”

“You know as well as I that there’s a backlog in testing. With no suspects at the time of collection, this one wasn’t deemed a priority.”

The backlog was common knowledge, as was the fact that it applied mostly to rape kits. Somehow, they never were a priority.

“That’s a shitty excuse,” he said, but there wasn’t much heat behind his words. This was a systemic problem and he was as much a part of that system as anyone else.

“It is,” she agreed. “I really am sorry, Jack. I was hopeful too but I’m afraid we’ve taken this as far as we can.”

“Maybe not. There might be a new witness.”

“Jack. It’s over.”

“Hear me out. Was there ever mention of a possible second assailant in any of the cases?”

“A second assailant? Not that I recall. Why?"

“A woman approached Phry—Miss Fisher—at some fancy party last night and told her she’d been assaulted by Renquist. Renquist and another man.

“When was this?”

“Around the same time as the others.”

“The victim didn’t file a report?”

“No. She had a connection to the other assailant—they were at Uni together and she fancied him—she didn’t think she’d be believed. She’d only told one other person until now.”

“She tells no one for years and then suddenly decides to talk to a complete stranger?”

“It’s not that unusual for victims of these kind of crimes to keep quiet,” Jack argued.

“But isn’t it a little too convenient that she decides to talk now, and to the one person most invested in taking Renquist down?”

“She said that she saw him on the show and it brought it all back for her. When she found herself face to face with Phryne she decided she had to say something. To warn her about Renquist.”

“Did she name this other assailant?”

“Rathburn. Jeff Rathburn. Melbourne native. He was Renquist’s roommate during his time as student here.”

He could hear her scratching the name out on a pad. Her voice was muffled when she spoke again, probably from trying to pin her cell phone between her shoulder and cheek as she wrote. It would’ve been easier to simply put it on speaker but Margo came up with landlines and old habits were hard to break.

“That name is familiar,” she said.

“He was the host of the party where Janey Fisher went missing.”

“That’s why I know it. Are you thinking this guy might have had something to do with that assault as well?”

“It could explain why the DNA on Janey Fisher didn’t match Renquist.”

“All this time you’ve been looking at the wrong guy?”

“It’s possible,” Jack admitted reluctantly, “but I think they were both involved.”

“On the word of this one witness? That’s a stretch, Jack. Other than Miss Fisher’s suspicions, we’ve never really had anything on Renquist in the first place. I can’t justify assigning more resources, but if this new victim is willing to make an official statement I’ll talk to Rathburn on my own time. Maybe I can get him to give us a DNA sample to check against what was found on Janey Fisher.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Jack said rubbing the back of his neck, “but the thing is, Margo, you can’t talk to him. He’s dead. Nearly ten years now.”

“Bloody hell, Jack! You might have wanted to open with that.”

“The point is, this witness ties Renquist to the crimes, and he’s still alive.”

“She ties him to her assault alone. And a ten year old testimonial with no corroboration isn’t exactly a slam dunk.”

“She told her friend at the time,” he tried. He heard her sigh.

“Jack, we really have taken this as far as we can. It’s time to let it go.”

“What if this other woman decides to come forward?”

“Then we will look into her allegations, but until then, we’re done. You’re done. I can’t have you spending any more time on it. I need you focused.”

She was right. There was nothing more to be done. He hung up and turned to his case files with every intention of identifying each less than solid alibi. His brain, however, rebelled.

He couldn’t stop thinking that he would have to tell Phryne they weren’t going to be able to hold Warren Renquist responsible for what had happened to her sister. After all she’d gone through, the man was going to slip away. Again.

Until this moment he hadn’t realized just how much he’d wanted to give her a victory.

He could still see her face, and the look in her eyes, when she’d realized that he was taking her seriously and was going to help her. He wanted to see that look again. That look of gratitude. He wanted to be her hero.

It was a ridiculous and childish thought but it was honest. What man didn’t want the woman he was in love with to look at him like he was the most wonderful man in the world?

But Phryne didn’t need a hero. She wasn’t one to sit back and wait for someone else to do what she was perfectly capable of doing herself. And she wouldn’t easily accept defeat. He didn’t like to think about what she might do now that all legitimate paths to justice had been run.

What if she tried to goad Renquist into some kind of confession? A man like that could be dangerous if pushed too far.

Without realizing it, he’d left his room and was walking the halls in the vain hope of running into her.

It wouldn’t happen. She’d left the set hours ago.

He had no idea when she might return or how he’d get her alone when she did. He would like to give her the bad news in person, hoping his presence might help to soften the blow, but that might be impossible.

He walked into the room that held that crazily elaborate bar.

 _‘French, 19th century,_ ’ she’d said, playing tour guide with a mischievous grin on her face. He ran his hand along the gleaming wood top, like he had that night, and ducked behind to look for her special bottle of rye. It was still there on the shelf.

Under the circumstances he didn’t think she’d begrudge him a little bump.

He pulled the stopper. The aroma hit his nose, bringing with it a vivid memory of a comfortable leather chair and her sitting across. There’d been a crackling energy and a warmth in his gut that he should have realized then was not due to the whisky.

That sensation returned now, making him smile. He pressed the bottle to his lips, but before he could drink, raised voices from the billiards room next door made him freeze. Quickly, he returned the bottle to its place and moved closer to the doorway being careful to stay out of view.

“We don’t make promises,” he heard Mallory Jones say. “And I don’t think next season’s damsel is going to find you any more interesting than this season’s has.”

“Not this show. The _new_ one! And being a contestant isn’t good enough. I want to be the host.”

Unsurprisingly, Renquist hadn’t taken Jack’s warning to keep quiet seriously.

“Mal? What’s he on about?”

Jack recognized this third voice as belonging to Mal’s colleague, Andy.

“Nothing,” Mal said flatly.

“I know it was supposed to be a secret, but Chad and I were friends. He told me all about it,” Renquist said.

“That moron.” This, from Mal, was barely audible.

“You didn’t,” Andy said.

“Pillow talk,” Mal said, sounding insincerely apologetic. “What can I say? I’m loquacious when satisfied.”

“Jesus, Mal. Chad?” Andy sounded more amused then angry. “That man had nothing between his ears!”

“What he had between his thighs made up for it,” she said, to which Andy whooped with laughter.

Jack didn’t know why he was surprised by their callousness anymore. He’d seen it often enough by now. A man was dead and they were acting like it was all one big joke. Everything and everyone seemed to exist purely for their entertainment and once they were no longer of use they ceased to matter.

“Can we get back to the negotiations?” Renquist said, annoyed by the turn this conversation had taken.

“Negotiations?”

“You have my conditions,” he said pompously. “I want to replace Chad on the new show.”

“Replace Chad? Do you have any idea what you’re talking about? Chad had money and connections in the industry.”

“I’ve got money and I’m smarter than Chad.”

“What about a fans? Chad had legions that would have followed him to the new show. Love him, or hate him, he inspired passion. There are fan pages and blogs devoted to the man. Do you know what I find when I google you, Warren? Nothing. Crickets. No one knows who you are!”

“That’s not my fault! I never got to show what I can do!”

“Are we back to whinging now? Good god, you’re tiresome,” Mal said. “We’ve told you what we want from you. Show us you can deliver, then maybe we can talk about the future.”

“You’ll consider my offer?”

“That depends on your performance tomorrow.”

“Believe me, I won’t disappoint.”

“Oh, I think you probably will, but go ahead and surprise me.”

Jack heard footsteps heading his way and moved behind a pillar as Mal came into view. Andy soon followed.

“Mal! Wait up.” Andy glanced behind him to make sure Warren hadn’t followed. “What the fuck?” He hissed. “You told Chad Chestler about the show? I thought we were keeping it quiet!”

“He was going to invest. I planned to tell you once the deal was final but the asshole got himself killed and I’m back to square one.”

“Damn.”

“It was probably for the best. I’m not sure he’d have made a good business partner.”

“You’re not seriously considering Wanker Warren as an alternative?”

“You don’t think I should?” She looked at him with wide, questioning eyes before they both burst into laughter.

“Why won’t you just take it to Vic?” Andy said, after catching his breath.

“And watch her turn it into _Happy Ever After 2.0_? How would that be an improvement on what we have now?” Mal said. “Just give me more time. I’ve got other avenues to explore.”

“I hope so.”

“I will make this happen, Andy. And when I do, I’m taking you with me.”

“Damn right you are,” he said. “Until then I need this job, so I’d better get back to Russell Crowe in there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of where Warren waited.

“I’m not expecting miracles but do what you can with him. You’re only as good as your last success and if this season tanks, Victoria will throw us under the bus, and no one will work with us again.”

Jack waited until they’d left, Andy turning back to deal with Warren and Mal heading in the opposite direction, before emerging from his hiding place.

He thought about going after Mal and confronting her about her relationship with Chestler and lack of candor about it, but that would have been more out of anger than good sense.

The number of omissions and outright lies he continued to identify from nearly every interview he’d conducted led him to one, unmistakable conclusion. He’d utterly failed to make people take him, or his investigation, seriously.

The decision to conduct the investigation in this fantastical place, in conjunction with this ridiculous show, had done even more damage than he’d imagined.

It had rendered a murder case illusory. Turned it into nothing more than a plot point in an overblown television drama.

Every minute of this so-called reality show was manipulated. Every person involved was pursuing their own agenda and calculating how best to get ahead. Keeping secrets and lying was the norm, and it didn’t even have to be about anything important.

Mal hadn’t said anything to indicate she’d been aware of Chestler’s dealings with Victoria. In fact, it sounded like he had still been stringing her along with regard to this new show at the time of his death.

That didn’t rule out an angry altercation but it wreaked havoc on Jack’s motive.

It looked like Margo was right again. Discovering motive was not going to be the key to this thing. And, while it might be useful, it wasn’t really an essential part of his job. His job was to find solid evidence of the ‘how’ and the ‘who’. If he could find that, the ‘why’ didn’t much matter.

So it was back to the drawing board. Slogging through interviews, doubling checking alibis and looking for holes.

Before he got started, there was one thing he needed to do.

Something Mal said had sparked an idea. A new avenue to pursue before giving up completely on justice for Janey Fisher and the other women.

He’d promised Margo he wouldn’t spend anymore time on the case, but there were other people out there who could.

Jack put in a call to Hugh. This time with an assignment his sergeant was actually going to like.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne frets about the future. Jack has put some new plans in motion and needs Phryne's help for them to succeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long but I wanted to get Phrack back together before the end of it so I hope you don't mind.

“I’m not afraid of anything. I’m just a little preoccupied, that’s all,” Phryne said.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Cato asked in that gentle, probing way he had.

She shook her head and crossed the room to top off her glass before bringing the bottle of wine over to the bed to refill his. He sat up against the headboard and patted the space beside him. After a moments hesitation, she joined him, curling her feet up under her for warmth.

“Are you glad you came here, Cato? Has the experience met your expectations?”

“I don’t think I had any expectations. I came with an open heart, ready to learn,” he said, expansively.

“Did you learn anything?”

His expression grew thoughtful, his lips turning down in a slight frown.

“Nothing too flattering about myself,” he said.

“I’m sure I can say the same.”

“Before this, I thought I was an enlightened being without ego.”

“No one is without ego but I think you may be nearer than most,” she said, kindly.

“I wish that were true. I was quite smug when you singled me out. I acted as though I was above it but I enjoyed the envy of the other men. Then Aisha started whispering in my ear and I saw a side of myself I didn’t know existed. I didn’t like it.”

“You’ve already apologized and been forgiven,” she said.

“I appreciate it, but I haven’t yet forgiven myself,” he said. “I’m still ashamed. It wasn’t just the jealousy. I had this fear of humiliation, of looking like a fool in front of the others. And I blamed you.”

“It’s what they do here. They make you believe this is a competition and pit everyone against each other."

“Yes, but it still took me by surprise how easily I became caught up in it. I didn’t even see it happening. There were always a few ‘every man for himself’ types here but in the beginning there was a certain sense of camaraderie among most of us. It was fun. A bit like going away to camp. Looking back now, I can see the where the factions started forming.”

“Helped, no doubt, by our producers slipping in to encourage suspicion and rivalry. I got caught up too, but I hope you know that I would never want to hurt or humiliate you. My affection for you was sincere. It still is. I care for you, Cato.”

 “I care for you too,” he said. “I hope I haven’t made you regret me.”

“Never.”

“Good. I’m so glad we got this chance to clear the air.” He placed his hand on her thigh, just above the knee. The look in his eyes took her by surprise.

“Oh,” she said. Maybe she should have expected this, but she hadn’t.

He removed his hand, mortified by whatever expression her face currently held.

“I’ve misread this entirely, haven’t I? Your distance wasn’t only about my jealous and possessive behavior.”

“It was,” she insisted. At least she’d thought it was at the time.

Even without his anger she didn’t think she’d have invited Cato in that evening, not after what had just transpired with Jack, but his jealous outburst had made turning him away an easy choice. She never could abide that type of possessive entitlement in a lover.

Now that he’d sincerely apologized and she’d proclaimed him forgiven, it wasn’t unreasonable for him to think they could pick up where they’d left off. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit the idea held some appeal to her as well.

Her body still remembered his touch and the pleasant diversion was tempting, but even in her slightly inebriated state she knew she’d regret it. There were a number of reasons for that but she chose not to examine them—one of them in particular—too closely at the moment.

“But you no longer feel the same way about me,” he said.

“It’s not you, Cato.”

“Crikey, don’t finish that sentence!” He said it with enough good humor to break the tension.

“It really is me, though,” she said. “My head is a mess right now.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Things were never supposed to have gotten this far. She’d never considered being here long enough to reach the final stages of this farce. The plan had been to expose Warren Renquist as soon as possible and then walk away.

But she didn’t yet have the evidence she needed to confront Warren and was stuck here, keeping up appearance with the men.

Where Lyle and Cato were concerned, she felt obligated to find a way out of this without humiliating them. She still had Mal out there causing mischief for reasons Phryne didn’t fully grasp, and then there was Jack. 

He was never in the cards, but without him, and the safe space he’d become for her, she wasn’t sure she’d have made it through this with her sanity intact. She was grateful for his arrival here—which didn’t make her feel good considering the tragedy that brought him—but she’d dragged him further into this mess than was fair and she couldn’t see a way out that didn’t end with him hurt, or damaged, or both.

“I wish you’d let me help you,” Cato said. “What is it that’s bothering you?”

“What do you think? In less than two days I’m going to have to make a decision that could change my life.” It came out more bitterly than she’d intended.

“You mean deciding between us.”

“Yes,” she said, because that was the only one of her concerns she could openly discuss with him.

“You don’t have to. Not really. It’s not as though you’re actually obligated choose one of us.”

That was true. There was nothing in the contract that said the show must end with an engagement.

“But it is expected,” she said, “and if I buck the system it’s only going to keep the spotlight on me longer.”

And on Jack.

The producers had already laid the ground work for the idea that she was attracted to the dashing detective. If she left here unattached the speculation would only grow.

“I want my privacy back, Cato. If I give everyone what they want—what they expect—maybe they’ll leave me alone.”

“You’re not actually considering getting engaged?”

“It wouldn’t be real. Both parties will be in agreement about that. And after a period of time we’ll put out an announcement that we’ve broken our engagement and are parting as the closest of friends.”

It made her stomach turn. She’d already rejected this idea outright when it had been suggested to her, but it had been brewing in her head all throughout that awkwardly quiet hike today, and the more she’d thought on it, the more sense it made.

“Is that what last night was about? This is Compton’s idea, isn’t it? It has to be,” Cato said.

Cato was more perceptive that she’d realized. Lyle had proposed the idea for the same reason Cato had just given for his jealous outburst—to avoid the humiliation of rejection in front of a world audience. Lyle had come on the show to increase his name recognition but the longer he’d lasted, the more important it had become to ‘win’ the whole thing.

“We make a certain sense, Lyle and I,” she said, wondering who she was trying to convince. “Our lifestyles are not dissimilar and, on paper, we’re a good match.”

“He’ll parade you around like a prize, Phryne! He only wants the spotlight an engagement to you will bring.”

“I know that, but I’m used to being in the public eye.”

“You’re not making sense. You say you don’t want to leave here without choosing anyone because it would bring too much attention, and yet you’d enter into a false engagement with a man for the purpose of bringing him attention. If you’re going to be in the public eye anyway, I don’t understand why you’d rather do it on his arm than alone.”

“Because I’d rather people speculate about something I know to be false than have them pry into my real affairs!” She cried impatiently.

“Real affairs? Is there someone in particular you’re trying to hide?”

“There are many people I’m trying to protect. Friends and business associates,” she deflected. “If I leave here unattached, I’ll be hounded for months and anyone near me will get caught up in it.”

“Especially someone you might be romantically interested in. Aisha wasn't making everything up.”

She huffed slightly. He really was too perceptive. Or maybe she was just stupidly transparent.

“I’m sorry, Cato. This wasn’t supposed to happen and I didn’t even understand the depth of it myself until recently.”

“It’s all right, Phryne. I understand,” he said. “He’s a lucky man.”

“He has no idea what he’s in for,” she said, shaking her head.

“I don’t know about that. He seems an intelligent bloke.”

“He didn’t sign up for this kind of attention. I’m the one that did. I should be the one to pay the price.”

“Has it occurred to you that he might think you’re worth it? Who are you to decide for him?”

She felt herself flushing pink. He was right.

She’d been convinced that when they left here, and he faced the onslaught of publicity that was likely to engulf them, Jack would run from her—or worse, resent her intrusion into his life and hate her for it. She’d found herself searching for some kind of fix and the decoy engagement idea took hold.

In the back of her mind she’d thought that if she could distract everyone’s eye from Jack now, then maybe later, when the heat died down, they could pick up where they’d left off. She'd told herself she'd be protecting him. Protecting his career and reputation.

And it was the height of arrogance. What right did she have to make such decisions for him? If any man had so unilaterally decided what he thought was best for her, she’d have been furious, and justifiably so.

Jack wasn’t a child and he didn’t need her protection. But he did need to be fully aware of the consequences of a relationship with her. That was a discussion that could no longer be avoided.

After that, he could walk away on his own. She wouldn’t cook up any crazy scheme to stop him. But she hoped he would stay.

 

* * *

 

 

She was back.

Not as early as the previous morning but he didn’t dwell on what that might mean.

The car was still coming up the drive when he cut behind the building, making sure no one was watching. He breathed a sigh of relief to find her window unlocked.

He knew the method for getting in undetected. That didn’t make it less risky but he didn’t hesitate. He was inside, crouched down on the floor in seconds.

A quick glance around showed that the room was laid out much the same as his own. Feeling very foolish, his heart pounding like a teenager sneaking into his girl’s bedroom, he crawled along the floor into the bath.

He didn’t dare shut the door for fear the motion might be caught by one of the hidden cameras. He slipped behind, tucking himself into the space between the open door and the wall hoping the wait would not be long.

He’d tried several times throughout a sleepless night to find the right words, writing one message after another only to reject them all. This news needed to be delivered face to face, which is why he’d resorted to such desperate measures.

It was only a few minutes before he heard her come though the main door to her rooms. Her footsteps grew louder as she entered the bedroom. He could hear her rummaging around and wondered if he should speak up.

The cameras didn’t have audio but if he startled her in view of them, and someone was watching, they could quickly end up with unwelcome company. He decided to hold his tongue until she entered the bath.

She pushed the door shut behind her and his reflection immediately appear in the mirror over the sink. She spun quickly, adopting a defensive posture before recognizing him and releasing her breath in a huff. Her hands dropped to her sides.

“Breaking and entering, Inspector? I wouldn’t have expected it of you.”

“What can I say? You’re a terrible influence, Miss Fisher.”

She looked as pleased as if he’d paid her a compliment, but her smile was a brief one.

“I’ll happily corrupt you any day, Jack, but from the look on your face I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”

“No.”

“It wasn’t a match?” she guessed, crossing her arms in from of her to brace for the blow.

“The test failed.”

“Was my sample bad?”

He hated that her first thought was to blame herself.

“No. It was the other sample. From the case file. It was too degraded to be of use. I’m sorry, Phryne.”

“So that’s it then.”

She turned away from him, hugging herself tighter. Jack saw her jaw clench as she fought to control her emotions.

He hesitated a moment, not sure she’d accept the comfort he wanted to offer, but he offered it anyway. If only to let her know it was available.

“Phryne,” he said, softly, reaching out his hand to gently caress her arm. Her shoulders fell and she swayed into his touch, emboldening him to pull her into his arms and crush her to his chest, shielding her from whatever demons were threatening overcome her.

She sighed deeply, wrapped her arms around his waist and sagged against him.

“Thank you, Jack. For everything.”

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up,” he said.

She raised her face to his and he felt an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her. Long and hard until he’d obliterated the look of defeat on her face.

“What else can I do?” She asked.

“There’s that new victim you met,” he said, trying to encourage the indomitable spirit he knew was inside her.

She gave him a small smile and pressed her lips lightly to his before pulling away from him.

“She’s not coming forward. And, even if she wanted to, I’d discourage her. She won’t get justice, so what would be the point of dragging her through this?”

Her rebuke of the justice system, and by extension his profession, stung.

“Maybe she doesn’t have to come forward. Maybe the information she gave you is enough.”

“I don’t see how.”

“We know a great deal more now than we did when these cases were initially investigated. We have good reason to think they are linked and we know they all took place at private parties, among students from the same university. This new victim’s information helps further,” he continued. “She’s identified Warren Renquist as one of her attackers and a second assailant as well.”

“Yes, but what good does any of that do now? It’s only her word and it was years ago. You said yourself it would be hard to finding anyone that could corroborate her account this far past the event.”

“I know. And what I have in mind is a long shot, but it occurred to me that other evidence might exist that, at the very least, puts our victims together with our suspects at one or more of these gatherings. Evidence that doesn’t require corroboration.”

“What kind of evidence?” She leaned back against the sink, eyeing him curiously.

“How do you suppose word of these parties spread?” he asked, then answered before she had a chance to reply. “Message boards, chat rooms, even social media were already in use ten years ago.”

“You think people may have posted online about these parties?”

“Not to mention that our suspects could have communicated with each other the same way.”

“I doubt they went online to discuss their crimes.” She sounded highly skeptical.

“Not in social media posts but what about email or through private messaging? They might not have been too careful. Ten years ago people were far less aware of how easy it is for others to find those conversations.”

“You plan to go looking for ten year old emails that may or may not exist?”

“I said it was a long shot. The emails might still be found on the University’s server if someone knew where to look for them. I’ve already got people working on that, as well as searching the social media accounts of people we know attended those parties, starting with our victims and their friends.”

“You already have people working on this? How is that possible since this is not an open case?” She looked like the proverbial cat that got the canary.

“They’re your people,” he said, sheepishly, “well, most of them are.”

Hugh was still working exclusively on the Chestler case but he was Jack’s liaison to Phryne’s team for all of this, a task he didn’t mind since it once again put him in proximity to Dot Williams.

“Do you mean to tell me you're working with hackers, Inspector?” She said with mock astonishment.

“IT Consultants,” he sniffed, haughtily.

“I _am_ a terrible influence on you.” Her eyes lit up. The look on her face was one he remembered from before, the one he’d hoped to see again, and it made him inordinately happy.

He launched into the details of his plan.

By nature of the way it was being collected, any information they found couldn’t be used to bring charges. The hope was to find something Phryne could confront Renquist with that might cause him to slip up and reveal himself.

“So this entire plan hinges on my drawing Warren into a conversation in which he incriminates himself?”

“Once you heard my news you were going to try to do that anyway,” he said. “The least I could do was get you something to work with. What time is your date with him set to begin?”

“All I know is that I need to be in wardrobe and make-up by three. I will be closely watched from then on.”

“So we’ve got about five hours.”

“What are the odds of finding something by then?”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” he hedged. He’d heard conflicting opinions. One of Phryne’s hackers was apparently enthusiastic about the challenge, the other threw cold water on any chance of success.

“What are the odds of finding anything at all?” She asked, reading his face.

“Not good,” he admitted.

“But you went ahead anyway.” She crossed to him wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “You’re a wonderful man, Jack but you’re risking too much. You all are. I can’t ask this of anyone, least of all an officer of the law."

“You’re not asking. They want to do it. I want to do it. For Janey and the other girls,” he cupped her face, stroking his thumb along her cheek and looking into her eyes, “and for you.”

She held his gaze for a moment, her eyes smoldering in a way that set him ablaze before they hardened into a look of steely determination.

“We’ll need some kind of signal to catch my attention in case you get any information before I leave,” she said.

“Any ideas?”

She looked him up and down. “How good is your sleight of hand, Jack?”

“Uhh…I don’t know.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” she said, cheerfully. “If you get information while I’m still on set, loosen your tie. Pull it just a little askew.”

“Why?”

“It will give me an excuse to come close and straighten it for you, and when I do, you can slip me a note.”

“Do you really think you’ll notice that my tie is slightly crooked?”

“Your tie is never anything but perfectly straight, Inspector. I’ll notice,” she scoffed. “Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s not an insult. I appreciate your sartorial elegance, Jack.”

She stepped close, taking hold of his tie and pretending to fuss with the knot. Her eyes were on his, a sly smile played on her lips. She stood very close, angling her body to give him access to her right hip.

“I’ll wear a jacket with large pockets,” she breathed, somehow making the perfectly ordinary sentence incredibly seductive.

“I suppose that could work,” he said, the words came out sounding a bit strangled.

Her lips turned down into a little pout and he couldn’t take his eyes off of that luscious, berry red mouth.

She continued toying with his tie, now loosening it and releasing the top button of his dress shirt. It was all he could do to keep his mind on their task.

“We still need a way to get information to you after you leave here. Is there any way you can find out what the plans are? Could one of your friends on the crew help?”

 

“I think most of them are kept in the dark until the last minute too.”

“Then I’ll just have to pull rank,” he said. “In my current capacity I have every right to know your schedule and, luckily, Mal has provided even more reason for me to want it.”

“She’s made me a prime suspect in Chad’s death with her little film,” Phryne said, catching on. It was the second time he’d seen her look excited by the prospect of being accused of murder.

“Exactly. And in doing so she’s given me a perfect excuse to keep a very close eye on you, Miss Fisher.”

She stepped back from him, which was both a disappointment and a relief, but neither sensation lasted more than a moment.

“Just an eye?” She asked, arching a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

She crossed the room and turned on the shower tap. Facing him, she pulled her shirt over her head and dropped it onto the floor. Her bra met it there a moment later.

“Phryne. What are you doing?”

“I have to prepare for my date tonight and we’re on a schedule. Don’t worry, I’m very good at multi-tasking. We can continue our planning while I shower.”

She shimmied out of her trousers and pants in one move.

“I’m not sure it’d be wise to try to shout  over the running water. We might be overheard.”

She placed her hand under the stream to check the temperature and stepped under it.

“Then you’d better join me in here.”

 

* * *

 

 

_She’d never wanted a man more._

This barely coherent thought was illustrated by the way she was currently clinging to him like a limpet.

Her hands were on his shoulders, her legs straddling his hips, ankles linked for leverage as he pressed her back against the cool tile walls of the shower stall.

He hit a spot that had her crying out and biting down hard on the flesh above his collarbone. He groaned and shuddered, his knees buckling. She filed that nugget of information away in the small portion of her brain that was still functioning for later use.

He widened his stance, anchoring his feet again and resumed his steady, rhythmic pace until she was pulsing around him and losing herself in the climb. She dug her nails into his back, dragging them across his shoulder blades forcefully enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck! Phryne. I’m going to…I have to…” he stuttered, before pulling himself free of her. She let her feet fall to the floor, thankful for the wall at her back because she didn’t think her shaking legs could hold her up.

Jack’s head was back, his jaw clenched and his mouth stretched into a tight grimace. She followed the water as it ran down his neck, the golden skin of his chest and taut abdomen to where he’d wrapped his hand around his cock. She set her fingers between her thighs to finish what he’d started.

“Allow me?” he asked. His eyes were focused again on her, wide with wonder and lust.

She nodded and he turned her so that her back was to his front and they were both under the warm spray of the water. One hand cupped a breast while the other brushed her fingers aside, replacing them with his own. She placed her hand over his, providing a little guidance until he brought her to a shuddering, liquid mess.

He slumped back against the wall, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her upright, both of them breathing heavily.

“I’m never letting you go,” she whispered, the words slipping out in her haze of bliss.

“Who’s asking you to?”

It was rhetorical and intended only to communicate that he had no desire to leave her. He nuzzled into her neck affectionately.

“Actually, that would be me.” This might not be the best time for this discussion but she might not get another.

He raised his head from her neck. His entire body went rigid. She didn’t need to see him to know the expression his face held.

She turned off the tap and he reached outside the shower door for a towel, wrapping it around her before stepping out to find one for himself.

“Are you going to explain what you just said?” He finally asked.

“This relationship isn’t going to be easy, Jack,” she said. “I’m not easy.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“I need to make sure that you are. You’re already making sacrifices for me. Going behind Margo’s back and pursuing questionably legal methods of gathering information.”

“I’m not doing it for you—no, that’s a lie—I am doing it for you. But I’m doing it for myself too, and for those young women that were denied justice. If the police, of which I am one, hadn’t done such a piss-poor job in the first place, I wouldn’t need to resort to these methods, but we did, and I do. I owe it to the victims.”

“You don’t,” she said. “You’ve done enough. You don’t need to risk your reputation and career.”

“It’s already done, and may come to nothing, which will have exactly zero effect on my career. But were getting off track. What does any of this have to do with us?”

She grabbed her black, silk robe—the one with the fighting cocks embroidered on the back, which seemed oddly apropos at the moment—and slipped into it.

“What do you think it will be like for us when we leave here?” She asked.

“Not this again! We’ve been through this already.”

“We haven’t. You put me off when I tried to bring it up before.”

“We have other, far more pressing, issues.”

“Why don’t you want to deal with this?”

“Because I don’t know how! We can guess at what will happen when we leave here, but we can’t really know. There’s no way to prepare for it ahead of time.”

“But what if our lifestyles are incompatible? What if you find you don’t like being with me in the real world?”

“It’s more likely you’ll find me too dull. Have you never been in a relationship before, Phryne? Do I need to explain to you the point of dating someone?”

“Don’t be patronizing,” she said. “You hate media attention! I saw the look on your face when I pointed out that it is part of my life and won’t stop when we leave here!”

“I overreacted!” He said, throwing up his hands.

“Are you saying it doesn’t bother you anymore?” She challenged, her hands on her hips.

“I’m a cop, not a spy,” he said, his anger deflating a bit. “I don’t need anonymity to do my job and I’m entitled to a personal life.”

“You’ve given this some thought.” She was honestly surprised by his answer.

He smirked, his head angling to one side in that way that made her a little weak in the knees.

“You are on my mind frequently, Miss Fisher. For reasons that have nothing to do with my official duties.” He reached for her hand. “I know that we’ve met under extremely odd circumstances, and that we don’t really know what this will look like in the light of day, but I want to find out, Phryne. Do you?”

“Yes, but you need to understand…”

“Yes will do for now.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her, preventing her from saying anything more on the subject.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing a bit fast and loose with Jack's idea. I don't know enough about how it all works to know if the possibility of finding ten year old messages online is all that reaslistic, but this is fiction so I hope you can suspend your disbelief!


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their tryst, Phryne and Jack separate to pursue independent lines of investigation in the hopes of solving both their cases before time runs out.

Phryne got dressed and set out to look for a coffee klatch, or gathering at the proverbial water cooler. Anywhere she might get information on tonight’s plans that would aid Jack in getting news to her.

But, before she could uncover useful information Phryne needed to find someone to talk to. Anyone to talk to.

The set was eerily quiet. Even the usually lively makeup trailer was currently empty.

With just three contestants left, and a mostly off-site filming schedule, only a bare-bones crew remained.

Phryne wandered out back and spotted a small group working to prepare the patio area for the final ceremony. They’d already constructed a wooden arbor, painted in bridal white, and were currently covering it with wine colored vining roses.

“Not very subtle, is it?”

“No,” she said, turning to the young man that had appeared at her side. She recognized him as one of the crew members that lugged equipment around. He was quite good looking and seemed to favor a wardrobe of form fitting t-shirts and shorts that revealed his muscular body.

They’d maintained a sort of nodding acquaintance, but had never spoken. She extended her hand. “It’s Tony isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He seemed pleased she knew his name. There was a glint in his eye and his handshake was long enough for her to consider that he might be flirting with her.

“I’ll be accompanying you on your final date tonight,” he said.

Definitely flirting. Good. She could work with that.

She lowered her sunglasses slightly and moved her eyes appreciatively over him from head to toe.

“Is that so?” She said, smiling coyly.

“In a professional capacity, of course,” he said.

“Shame,” she pouted. “Any hints you can give about what’s in store for me later?”

“I’m afraid I’m sworn to secrecy,” he said.

“It was worth a try,” she shrugged, returning her gaze to the horrifying tableau being constructed twenty feet away. “I can’t believe all of this is nearly over. I’m not sure I’m ready. So much has happened!”

“It’s been a crazy season, alright. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“I should hope not!” She said. “Unless contestants being murdered is common?”

“Definitely not.”

“It was such a shock. Poor Chad.”

“Were you fond of him?” He asked.

She quickly sized Tony up. He was nearly as fit as Chad had been but looked like a man that came by his physique honestly and might have considered the other man a bit of a poser.

“Actually, I was planning on sending him home at the next elimination,” she whispered, leaning in closer. “It feels strange admitting that. A little like speaking ill of the dead.”

“There’s no other way to speak of Chad. Victoria should have sent him packing long ago.” He leaned in even closer, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “Between you and me, he was getting increasingly out of control.”

“Out of control? What do you mean?”

“He liked to provoke people and he could be pretty aggressive.”

“Why was that allowed?”

“It wasn’t only allowed, it was encouraged. Animosity among the men here is good for ratings, but this was worse than the usual bickering.”

“Did it ever get violent? Was there anything that might have led to—what happened to him?”

“I don’t know about that but it’s possible he finally took things too far,” he said warily.

“Did you mention any of this to that police detective?”

“We were warned not to say anything that might make the show look bad.”

“You were advised to lie to the police?”

“We were told to answer any questions honestly, but not to speculate—or something along those lines.”

“Who made this decree?”

“It wasn’t anything official. Just word that got passed down through the departments. Everyone I spoke to had got the message. Most of us took it to mean we were to keep our mouths shut or risk losing our positions.”

Phryne was furious, mostly on Jack’s behalf, but she wanted to keep Tony talking and giving him a scolding didn’t seem the way to gain his trust.

“That puts everyone in a tough spot,” she said, empathetically. “And if you didn’t really have any firsthand knowledge of anything, what could you say?”

“Exactly,” he said, clearly relieved that she seemed to understand his predicament.

“I actually heard of an argument between Chad and one of the other men. Outside the gym. Apparently it got quite heated,” she said.

“In the gym? Was it on the day he died? I think I might have seen a bit of that one.”

“Did you? I didn’t actually see anything, and I didn’t want to get the other man in trouble, so I kept quiet,” she said.

In reality she’d mentioned Reggie’s fight with Chad to Jack right away, mainly to speak on Reggie’s behalf. She didn’t think him capable of murder, but when it came down to it, how well did she really know the man?

“Is it true they came to blows?” She asked.

“Not that I saw. Warren was angry, but I don’t think he had the guts throw a punch. He was no match for Chad physically.”

Warren? This was a different fight altogether and, sadly, not breaking news. Phryne was already aware that Warren and Chad had fallen out, and Warren had admitted as much to Jack. Still, there was the chance that Warren’s version was not the whole story.

“Could you hear them? What was the fight about?” She asked.

“I only caught the tail end of it. Warren was yelling about something and Chad said, _‘Are you threatening me? Don’t think I won’t tell them where I got it,’_ or something like that.”

“Tell who where he got what?” She asked.

“No idea. That’s all I heard. Chad walked away after that and left Warren fuming. He actually punched the heavy bag so hard he hurt his hand,” Tony laughed.

“How angry was he? Do you think he could have…” she let the implication hang in the air.

Tony shook his head. “He didn’t have the guts to go after Chad.”

“But it seems he has a temper and that’s a side of him I haven’t seen,” she said, chewing her lip nervously and doing her best damsel in distress impression. “I’m about to spend hours with the man. Should I be concerned about being alone with him?”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It will be easy enough to avoid being alone with him where you’re going.”

“Oh?” she said, her eyes imploring him for more information.

He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “The Crown,” he whispered.

The Crown Melbourne complex covered most of a city block. Billed as the biggest casino in the entire southern hemisphere, it housed several gaming rooms, three hotels, and numerous nightclubs, bars and restaurants. It was its own little city with a population that might reach into the thousands on a busy night.

It would be a lively shooting location for the date and the convenient presence of on-site hotels had most likely factored in as well. Phryne was sure a room had already been reserved for them.That didn't mean she had to take advantage of it and she could easily avoid being alone with Warren in such an enormous locale.

That was the good news. The bad news was, without a better idea of their agenda, it would be near impossible for anyone to locate her once they were inside.

If Jack was going to find any new information they could use against Warren, he’d better do it fast.

 

* * *

 

Jack returned to his room. With no messages from Phryne’s team, he got on with the work of verifying any unconfirmed alibis in the Chestler case.

Early in the investigation he’d created a makeshift crime board from a roll of butcher paper. Not trusting that the lock on his door actually provided any security, he’d made a habit of hiding it away whenever he was away from his room. Now, he retrieved it from under the bed and taped it up on a wall.

Across the top was a timeline for the day of the murder marked out in five minute intervals. Underneath, in his admittedly sloppy scrawl, he’d written in the whereabouts, as conveyed to him through his interviews, of every person on set that day. The result was a fairly complete visual reference of everyone’s movements immediately before, during and after the murder.

He’d long since drawn a line through the names of people with solid alibis. Phryne was included in that group, as was Victoria. The show runner had left the set before the murder. Her presence at a dinner with several colleagues had been substantiated by the others in attendance as well as the staff at the restaurant.

What remained was a handful people whose alibis had yet to be confirmed. He started with Phryne’s suitors. At the time of the murder four of them, not counting the victim, had remained.

Reggie and Cato each vouched for the other, claiming they were together in the room they shared. That was easy enough to confirm with a quick look at CCTV footage from the hidden camera in their quarters. Jack drew a line through their names.

Lyle and Warren were a different story. They, too, had alibied each other but there was the matter of the time Compton had spent in the bath. For those five minutes or so they’d been out of each other’s sight.

Jack found the footage from the hidden camera in their room and cued it up to one half hour before the coroner’s estimated time of death. Both men were present on the film and, although Jack was watching at a stepped up speed, Renquist did appear be in the foul mood Compton had described.

As soon as Compton escaped into the bath, Jack slowed the tape to normal speed.

Alone in the outer room, Renquist paced, moving in and out of view of the camera. At one point, after pacing out of the frame, he didn’t return. Jack rewound to the spot where he’d disappeared and resumed the playback, taking note of the running timestamp.

Three minutes went by. Then five. It was close to nine minutes before Renquist paced back into view. Jack couldn’t be sure from the grainy image but he thought Renquist looked even more agitated than before. His pacing intensified and he appeared to be talking to himself.

Another two minutes went by before Compton emerged from the bath. So much for that man’s oft-bragged about military precision and discipline. Compton couldn’t vouch for an entire eleven minutes of Renquist’s time and even the CCTV footage left a nine minute gap in his alibi.

Nine minutes was still not a lot of time to cross the hall, murder Chestler and hide the weapon. It might be possible, but every camera’s range included the door to the room. If Renquist’s pacing had taken him out of the room, Jack would have seen it.

 _Unless he’d used a different exit._ Phryne couldn’t be the only one that had figured out how to get in and out their room without being seen.

Jack tore off a new sheet from the roll of paper, taped it up beside the first chart and wrote: ‘Renquist—nine minutes unaccounted’ before moving on to his next line of inquiry.

Jack had long considered the four Associate Producers among his top suspects because of their access to the CCTV cameras. Of the four of them, one was already eliminated from suspicion. Andy had been away from the set for a medical appointment, confirmed by his doctor’s office, the day Chestler was killed.

Aisha and Chloe alibied each other, claiming to have gone together for a smoke break behind one of the trailers.

It took awhile, but eventually Jack found footage of them heading away from the set, toward the trailers, then returning again from the same direction over an hour later.

The problem was, once they were out of camera range there was no telling where they’d gone. The length of their absence suggested that smoking was not all they’d got up to but, based on their body language, murder was not the activity Jack suspected them of trying to hide.

He’d found nothing to indicate either of them might have a motive to harm Chestler—they’d hardly interacted with the man—and it appeared they’d been where they claimed to have been, but it wasn’t proof enough for Jack to definitively cross them off the list.

He wrote their names on the new chart even though he had a hard time seriously considering them suspects.

That left only Mal in the pool of Associate Producers. Several people thought they had seen her around but no one had been sure of the exact timing of these sightings.

Jack had set Hugh to the task of compiling a timeline of Mal’s movements. He could comb through the footage on his own as well, but there seemed no point in duplicating efforts. He copied her name over onto the new list for now.

There was only one alibi left and Jack had already tried and failed to verify it.

Clara Whiting, a young production assistant, had claimed to have been all alone, sleeping in one of the tech trailers at the time of the murder. Jack had found no CCTV footage or witnesses to substantiate her claim.

She was also known to have a history with the victim that provided a possible motive. She and Chestler had a failed love affair in the past that had been detrimental to her career.

Jack liked Clara, and couldn’t see her as a murderer, but his opinion was irrelevant. As long as her alibi remained unconfirmed, she could not be eliminating from his inquiries. He reluctantly transferred her name over to the new chart.

That left him with five suspects but Jack didn’t feel any closer to knowing who he should focus on. The easiest to eliminate at this point was probably Renquist but before he spoke to either Compton or Renquist about those extra four minutes, he wanted to conduct a little experiment of his own.

There were far fewer crew members on set today and he made it to the room Renquist had previously shared with Compton without passing a single soul. Once inside, he pulled up the video of those ten minutes in question on his phone, watched Compton head into the bath and then froze the image on Renquist.

Setting himself up in the same spot, Jack started the video and followed along with Renquist as he paced the room. Whenever Renquist disappeared from view, Jack would stop his pacing and take note of his position in the room to familiarize himself with the camera’s range.

The final time Renquist disappeared off screen Jack paused the playback. He was left standing in a spot out of range of the cameras and within three feet of a window. A window that faced the same view as his own, one floor up. Thanks to Phryne he already knew the ground outside was not covered by any cameras.

Renquist could easily have left his room, sight unseen, through the window but he wouldn’t have been able to access Chestler’s room the same way.

Jack had spent enough time in the victim’s room to know that the only window in it looked out onto the courtyard and the courtyard had been too occupied for anyone to have snuck in that way.

Chestler’s murderer had entered his room through the door. There was no other way in, and everyone knew there were hidden cameras would recored anyone  opening the door.

Why would Renquist bother sneaking out of his own room to avoid those cameras only to risk being caught by the ones in Chestler’s room? It didn’t make sense.

_Unless he knew the cameras would be off._

Jack had always thought the killer had either got very lucky or had known ahead of time they wouldn’t be seen. It’s how he’d landed on Mal to begin with.

He thought back over the interview with Renquist. The man had definitely mentioned Chad’s bragging about an affair with someone high up in the show’s hierarchy. If he knew about Chestler’s affair, maybe he’d also known how it was being kept hidden.

Jack crawled out the window and faced the back of the building looking for any other points of entry. He could see Phryne’s window to the left, his own just above it.

To the right was another bedroom window. If the map in his head was correct, that window belonged to the room directly across the hall from the one he’d just vacated, and was only a few doors down from Chestler’s.

That room had been empty at the time of the murder, the occupants having been eliminated from competition some weeks earlier. Any cameras in it would no longer have been operating when Chestler was killed. Jack approached the window and found it unlocked.

He returned to Renquist’s room, stood in the last spot that man had appeared on film, and started the stopwatch on his phone.

Moving quickly, he went out one window and in the next. He was in the hall and accessing Chestler’s room in under two minutes. He wasn’t even out of breath.

Assuming it would have taken another two minutes for Renquist to get back to his own room, he would still have had five minutes in which to kill Chestler, but Jack was unconvinced.

He still believed the murder was a spontaneous act and crawling through windows in an attempt to avoid detection implied premeditation. If he’d gone to the trouble of planning a hidden route for his murderous plot, then why hadn’t Renquist brought a weapon with him? And how could he be sure he’d get back to his own room before Compton got out of the bath?

It didn’t make sense. The missing minutes were suspicious but there could be any number of more reasonable explanations for them. He was wasting his time.

Jack had just returned to his room when the call came from his sergeant. Hugh had finished the review of Mal’s movements around the time of the murder.

Sergeant Collins had gone above and beyond. He’d taken footage from the multiple cameras around the set and compiled the bits where Mal appeared into one file, condensing what had been hours down to a very manageable twenty minute video.

“Great work, Hugh,” Jack said, “this will be a big help. I’ll get right on it.”

“One more thing. I just heard from Miss Williams,” Hugh said.

“Have they found something useful?”

“Possibly. They’re still digging into it but it looks promising. Do you want me to send what they have so far?”

"Yes. Send it now and then keep me updated on any new developments.”

The Chestler case should take priority but Phryne was due in make-up in less than an hour. If there was anything to this new information, he wanted to be able to get it to her before she left the set. When the two files landed in his inbox Jack opened the second one first.

Hugh was right about it being only ‘possibly’ useful. What they’d found wouldn’t be enough to justify Jack questioning Renquist but, in Phryne’s hands, it might be enough to rattle his cage.

Jack printed out the incriminating messages, added a brief explanation of where they’d been found and folded the paper up small enough to hide in the palm of his hand.

Two thoughts occurred as he headed out in the hopes of finding Phryne. The first being that this spy craft plan of her’s left too much room for error and they should have come up with a better means of passing information. The second was that, with his new suspicions about Renquist’s possible involvement in Chestler’s murder, he was about to hand Phryne a stick with which to poke a bear.

He settled the second concern by telling himself the odds of Renquist having killed Chestler were low. As for the first concern, it was too late to change the plan now.

He stopped in front of a mirror and gave his tie a little tug to the left.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long to spot her. She was lounging in the courtyard, her head back against her seat as though she might be napping in the shade of the tree she sat under. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes but Jack could tell she was awake and on high alert. She’d probably headed outside in the hopes he would bring something to her and was sitting there, willing him to appear.

He floundered for a moment, wondering which way to turn. If he headed straight for her it would be too obvious that she was his intended destination but, in truth, she was and he couldn’t immediately think of any other reason for his being here. Clearly, he’d not thought this through well enough.

Or, maybe he was overthinking it now.

All he needed to do was cross the courtyard in a way that would appear to casually draw her attention. He didn’t really need to make up a reason for his appearance, there was no one around to ask, but if he needed one he could say he was heading to his jeep to retrieve something.

He’d barely taken a step when she raised her head and lifted the sunglasses from her eyes.

“Oh, hello Inspector,” she called out, waving in a friendly manner, unfolding herself from the lounge chair and coming towards him. At this point it would have been rude of him to ignore her, so he went to meet her half way.

She approached slowly while casually straightening the long cardigan she wore to settle the square pocket just over her right hip.

He felt ridiculously nervous. The folded bit of paper was concealed in his hand and, while the pocket was large, as she’d promised, he doubted his ability to make the transfer undetected. Still, he had to try. And soon, before his increasingly sweaty palm caused the ink on the page to run.

“How goes the investigation?” She asked with exaggerated interest.

She stepped closer, reaching up to straighten his tie and lingering just long enough for him to slip the paper into her pocket. It was dead simple.

“Try not to look so pleased, Jack,” she whispered. “They could be watching us.”

It was a fair assumption but he decided it didn’t matter. He’d told Victoria that any flirtations he engaged in were simply part of his investigative methods. This encounter could be explained away as more of the same.

“Walk with me, Miss Fisher,” he said, smiling seductively. “I have a few questions regarding your statement I’d like to go over with you.”

She blinked in surprise at this deviation from their plan but fell into step beside him.

“Fire away,” she said.

“You say you were alone in your room at the time of the murder.”

“That’s right.”

“You saw no one and heard nothing during that time, is that correct?”

“Well, yes. I was sleeping.”

He could tell she had no idea where he was going with this. He'd been casting about for a reason to lead them far enough from the set to speak more freely when it occurred to him that, had Renquist been wandering between windows on his way to kill Chestler, there was a chance he’d made some noise.

“Are you a light sleeper? Or, if there was activity nearby—outside your open window, for example—would it have awakened you?”

“I suppose it might have but at the time you’re asking about, my window was closed.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Cato had used it to—visit me—and I closed it behind him so that we wouldn’t be overheard. When he left he used the door. Shortly after his exit, I lay down for a kip. I hadn’t opened the window again.”

He blanched at her casual reference to a clandestine liaison with another man that was probably similar to the one they’d shared earlier today. He shoved the petty jealously down.

He wished he had somewhere to look other than her eyes, which currently held a decidedly unapologetic expression. Not that she had anything to apologize for. He cleared his throat.

“What is this about?” She asked. They’d made it nearly to the gazebo and could relax a little.

“Nothing. I’m just grasping at straws,” he said.

You’re being very cryptic, Jack.”

“Not intentionally,” he promised. He checked his watch. There wasn’t time to explain now. She would need to leave soon. “That information I just gave you—it’s not much. We’re trying to get more.”

“Then I may have some bad news,” she sighed. “We’re going to The Crown tonight. It’s going to be difficult to find me there.”

“Actually, it won’t,” he said, brightening. “The Crown has cameras everywhere and the head of security is a mate. He should be able to give me your location in minutes.”

“Excellent! Then it’s just a matter of how to get any information to me,” she said. “I was thinking that maybe we could use Dot for that.”

“Your assistant?”

“Yes. Dot and your sergeant could be on hand posing as a couple out for the evening. She’ll know how to catch my eye and we can meet up in the closest ladies lounge to exchange any information.”

“No one from the show would recognize her as your employee?”

“I don’t see how,” she said. “Will your sergeant be alright with this plan?”

Jack huffed. “I don’t think Hugh will mind an evening out with your Miss Williams one bit.”

“I’m pretty sure Dot won’t mind either.” She looked up at him, the humor in her eyes turning wistful as she took in his expression. “Oh Jack. It will be us soon enough.”

“Am I that easy to read?” he laughed.

“So it would seem,” she said, with a fond smile.

“You really should go,” he said, softly. They were lingering too long.

“Yes,” she perked up, her voice suddenly eager, “but before I do—I learned something earlier that I think you should know. Tony witnessed an argument between Warren and Chad shortly before he was killed.”

“Tony?”

“He’s a Grip,” she said, at his blank stare. "He hauls equipment around?”

“I know who he is and what a Grip does. He didn’t mention seeing this fight in our interview,” Jack snapped, wondering why he was even surprised anymore to learn of another person withholding information.

“I know he didn’t. That’s why _I’m_ telling you.”

Jack listened as she hurriedly recounted Tony’s tale even though secondhand hearsay was close to worthless.

“I was thinking Chad’s threat might have had something to do with the show,” she said.

“The show?”

“The new one. Chad threatened to  _‘tell them where he got it.’_ Maybe Warren knew that Chad had taken Mal’s show to Victoria behind her back.”

“Even if he did, how would Chad’s revealing that hurt Warren? Chad’s the one that stole the idea, not Renquist,” Jack said.

“Well, what else could it be about?”

This fight put a new spin on things and that, coupled with his new suspicions about those lost nine minutes, gave Jack pause.

Was it wise for Phryne to try to get under Renquist’s skin tonight? They already knew the man had a history of assault in his past. And, while Janey’s death had likely been accidental, there was now the possibility he had committed a cold-blooded murder much more recently.

“I don’t know what it means, but be careful tonight,” he implored her. “Try not to provoke him.”

“I’m not likely to get what we need by holding the man’s hand, Jack.”

“Just make sure you’re not alone with him and don’t make him desperate.”

“I can handle Warren,” she snorted.

“He could be dangerous.”

“Says the man chasing down a murderer!”

“Please don’t make light of this, Phryne. I need you safe.”

She softened, laid her hand on his chest, palm flat over his heart and looked him in the eye.

“I have no intention of being alone with him. And I’ll be careful,” she said. “Promise me you’ll be careful too.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when she thinks she's on her way to success, Mal realizes she's made a colossal mistake. Phryne gets ready to confront her sister's killer.

It had been over twenty-four hours since Mal had shown the video to Jack and she still hadn’t got the chance to speak with Victoria.

Yesterday, by the time she’d finished helping Andy with his Warren problem, Victoria had left the set for a meeting at the network. This morning Mal arrived to news that her boss would again be in meetings most of the day.

Mal hoped these meeting didn’t have to do with the future of _Happy Ever After_ but she knew the network was not thrilled with the way things had gone this season. Which was why she needed her plan to succeed and that success relied on her getting to Victoria before Jack.

So far, she felt secure in that regard. Victoria had left multiple messages for Mal overnight and none of them even hinted at the video. All Mal had to do was make sure she was waiting for Victoria the moment she arrived on set this afternoon. Until then, if she wanted to stay in Vic's good graces, she had to get on with her day to day responsibilities and prepare for tonight’s off-site production.

Phryne and Warren would have some leeway in choosing where to spend their time in the sprawling Crown complex but there were spots where filming was prohibited and would have to be avoided. There were also places they would be required to visit as a condition of the show using the location for filming.

The Crown was host to many concerts and shows, not to mention heavily trafficked by the general public. Tonight was going to be a complicated dance between providing enough free advertising to satisfy their host, while avoiding the filming of anything that might require royalties or an odious number of signed releases. Happily, they would not be broadcasting live and anything unusable could be edited out in post.

After heading to the site to scout locations and set a loose agenda for the night, Mal returned to the set, leaving Meg, that production assistant Phryne seemed to get along with, to finish the pre-shoot prep.

She was crossing the courtyard on her way to the control room, planning to park herself there until Victoria returned, when the strangest sense of deja vu came over her.They were near the gazebo, looking much as they had when she’d first begun to suspect an attraction.

She didn’t dare move closer and the camera on her phone was not powerful enough to capture much from this distance. She thought about calling over a cameraman but there wasn’t enough time. This unguarded moment between them wouldn’t last long. Mal zoomed in as tight as possible and began recording. She didn’t need audio to tell this story. Their bodies spoke loud enough.

Their eyes were locked on each other, their bodies swaying like magnets irresistibly drawn together. The lust was so thick as to be palpable.

Relationships on _Happy Ever After_ might be highly manipulated but no season was ever short on true animal attraction and Mal had seen enough of it to know when it was in front of her.

They looked like they wanted to crawl inside each other’s skin and, though they parted after nothing more than a charged touch, it was obvious; they were lovers, or very soon would be.

Once they’d gone their separate ways Mal continued on to the control room feeling almost gleeful. After the missteps and bad luck of the past few weeks things were turning around.

She’d been off her game when Jack arrived and Phryne had got there first, or maybe she’d just handled the man better. Either way Mal’s powers of persuasion had failed her just when she’d needed them most.

A single mistake, and the choice she’d made to fix it, had left her reeling from one bad decision to the next—this latest the riskiest of them all—but now it seemed the best of all possible scenarios was unfolding before her eyes.

A wave of relief washed over her. She was going to be all right.

Better than all right. She was poised to pull off the most spectacular finale in the history of _Happy Ever After_. Every studio executive in town—in the entire country—would be vying for her.

But first, she had to get Victoria on board.

 

* * *

 

“Where did you get this?”

“It’s from that footage you told me to cut.”

“I know what it is. I thought you gave me the only copy.”

“I did.”

“Then how did you get this?”

"Just watch it all the way through and then I’ll explain.”

Mal was not surprised by Victoria’s apparent irritation. This was far from the first time she had helped herself to something in Vic’s office. Mal had access to every inch of the place, including the keys to Victoria’s desk. Hell, Mal was the one that changed her password for her each week. Each time Mal had overstepped the boundaries and gone behind Vic's back, Vic griped, but never for long.

“What do you think?” Mal asked, once the video clip had finished.

“I think it makes it look like she killed Chad.”

“Good. That’s what it’s supposed to look like.”

“Why?” Victoria asked.

“We talked about it, remember? We thought making her into a suspect would be good for the show. Especially if Robinson went out of his way to protect her.”

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, but that was before we knew the depth of thier feelings for each other.”

“The depth of their feelings? Bloody hell, Mal. Do I need to be worrying about you again? When was the last time you had a session with Dr. Galvin?”

“What? No. That’s not what this is.”

“It’s been a very stressful few weeks. I should have been around more. Maybe I’ve left too much on your shoulders,” Victoria said, shaking her head.

“Vic, I’m fine. It’s not like last time.”

“Isn’t it? You’re too fixated on them. You're seeing things that aren't there.”

“I’m not! Just look at what she’s doing! First she spent the night with Lyle and then the very next with Cato. She’s trying to distract us from what’s really going on.”

“Or she’s doing her homework before making her final decision.”

“That’s what she wants us to think! That’s what she wants the audience to think, too!”

“Then she’s doing exactly what we need her to do. The audience needs to be kept guessing up to the last minute or they’ll stop watching.”

“You’re not listening to me. She’s not really in this anymore. She’s not going to make a choice tomorrow, or if she does, it won’t be real.”

“Since when do we care if it’s real? Let her play her game, make her pretend choice, and then we can finally be done with this godforsaken season.”

“Hear me out, Vic, please. She’s in love with Jack Robinson. I know it. If we make him think she killed Chad he will either move to protect her or arrest her. Either way, when she realizes that he thinks she’s capable of murder, it will break her heart.”

“You can’t be serious,” Victoria said.

“We have the chance to produce an ending more dramatic than anything that’s come before. Something raw and real.”

“Something that will drop us into a heap of hot water for obstructing an investigation,” Victoria said. “She didn’t kill anyone.”

“Which we will, of course, prove later,” Mal said. “I’m not suggesting we actually let her take the fall.”

“What a relief,” Victoria mocked. “Look, Mal, the audience loves Phryne. She’s already suffered through the sudden death of one of her knights and an assault from an abusive ex-lover at our hands. Now you want to call her a murderer on national television when you know full well she’s not?”

“Like I said, we’ll make sure she’s cleared in the end and audiences love heartbreak.”

“We’ve had enough drama this season. What we need is an ending that will be a balm on the wounds of recent weeks. We need something familiar and heartwarming not heartbreaking.”

“That drama is all the more reason not to end in such an ordinary fashion. This is our chance to really shake things up!”

“You need to let this go. We are not falsely accusing an innocent woman of murder.”

“It’s not like we’ll let her go to jail!”

“This is exactly what I was worried about. You’re losing your grip and you don’t know when to stop,” Victoria said sternly. “I know we push the envelope at times but what we do here isn’t fiction. These are real people with real lives. This plan of yours would get us cancelled, or sued, or both. I don’t want to hear one more word about it!” Victoria snatched the jump drive containing the incriminating video from her computer and tossed it Mal. “Get rid of this.”

_Cancelled or sued._

Mal felt the hot lick of panic rising in her chest. Digging up dirt from someone’s past and putting it on display was fair game, even revealing a clandestine love affair wasn’t off limits, but a murder accusation you knew to be false? That was libel.

They might clear it all up later but, if Phryne could prove the lie had damaged her reputation, which it undoubtedly would, the show and the network—and possibly Mal personally—would be open to damages. Damages she had no way of paying.

The network would cut her loose. Even Victoria might lay all blame at her door rather than go down with her. This had the makings of a disaster.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Vic."

Victoria pressed a drink into Mal’s hand she hadn’t noticed her crossing the room to get. 

“Forget it,” she said gently. "We’ll get through the next few days and end the season without more drama. After that you can take a long holiday. Find a secluded beach somewhere and get your head in order.”

Mal downed the vodka in one gulp. She was about to test Victoria’s compassion to its edge.

“Look, Vic. I’ve made a mess and I’ll clean it up but I’m going to need the rest of that footage. The part that shows Phryne sleeping at the time of the murder.”

It took a second for the realization to hit and then Victoria fell back in her chair as if she’d been shot.

“For fuck’s sake, Mal. Don’t tell me you’ve already shown him this.”

“I don’t think he’s done anything with it yet. I just need to show him the real one before it's too late.”

“That’s what all those questions were about,” Victoria said. Her relative calm meant that she was still processing this new development but Mal expected an explosion any minute now.

“What questions?”

“He was here. Yesterday. Asking all sorts of questions. He asked if we had we ever thought about doing anything like what you’ve just proposed. He also asked if I’d withheld any information for the benefit of the show. He was giving me a chance to come clean and I lied. I didn’t tell him about the footage we’d hidden from him.”

“We’ll tell him now. We’ll say you forgot about it.”

“Do you actually think he would buy that? You have no idea what you’ve done,” Victoria snapped. "I’m calling Galvin.”

“I don’t need a doctor! It’s not like last time!”

“You’re right. It’s worse. At least last time it was just some bogan we could pay off. This is a police detective and Phryne fucking Fisher! You think they’re going let us trash their reputations and then go quietly? We need Galvin if no other reason than to provide some explanation for your madness.”

Vic had gone to bat for her last time but Mal knew you didn’t get two chances in this industry. Another episode like the last one on her record and her career would be over.

Victoria reached for the phone.

“Wait!” Mal cried.“I can fix this. I’ll keep you out of it. I’ll find some explanation for the altered footage. He’ll get the real evidence—better late than never—and he’ll be angry, but I don’t think he’ll make waves for us. He doesn’t care about the show.”

“That’s a lovely thought but unless you kept a copy of the original footage we are shit out of luck.” Victoria poured a very generous portion of vodka into her coffee cup.

“What are you talking about?”

“I destroyed the original footage,” she said, sipping at her cup with the calm of a captain resigned to going down with his ship.

“Why would you do that?”

“I’d just lied to a police detective about evidence material to his investigation. I didn’t want to risk it being found later.”

“But, it clears her!” Mal cried.

“I didn’t know she needed to be cleared. He said he’d already eliminated her as a suspect and I had no idea what you were up to!”

“When was this?”

“I told you, he was here yesterday asking all sorts of questions.”

“And he said he’d cleared her?”

“Do I stutter?”

“But that was after I showed him the video! He was fishing for more information.”

“Ya think? Why the hell didn’t you talk to me before going ahead with this half-assed plan!”

“But, don’t you see what this means? He’s looking for a way out of this. He’s going to protect her, Vic! Just I like I thought he would!”

“Oh my god, Mal! This isn’t a romance novel!” Victoria cried in exasperation. “He’s not in love with her. His flirtation was an act.”

“I know what I saw!” Mal argued. 

“You saw what he wanted you to see. He knew that she’d respond to flattery and admiration. He used it to gain her trust.”

“But, why would he do that?”

“Maybe he sized up the situation around here and saw who was really in charge.”

Her blow hit the mark. Phryne had been running rings around Mal since the day she arrived. And she’d made bosom buddies of most of the crew. If anyone on set was of value to Jack’s investigation, it was Phryne.

“Do you really think that man would lie for, and risk his career for, a woman he met five minutes ago?” Victoria sneered. “He’s shrewder than you give him credit for and, because you’ve underestimated him, you’ve dropped us both in it.”

All the pieces were falling into place and Mal felt knocked sideways. How had she been so wrong?”

Jack had appeared to be captivated by Phryne because that’s what she responded to. She needed a man’s admiration.

With Mal he’d been arrogant and cold while occasionally doling out crumbs of approval and kindness, because that’s what she responded to. He’d beat her at her own game.

Mal felt sick to her stomach.

“I can still fix this,” she pleaded, desperately, "just give me chance." She had no idea what to do but she needed Vic to believe in her. She needed Vic to need her—for them to be a team. If Vic cut her loose Mal was sunk.

“All you are going to do is sit in that chair where you can’t do any more damage while I figure out how to get us out of this mess,” Victoria replied.

 

* * *

 

 

“Wow. You look fantastic.”

“You think so? After that fiasco of a dress they gave me for the date with Lyle I wasn’t taking any chances,” Phryne said. 

“Those pants are fabulous,” Meg said.

“I happen to know the designer if you’d like an introduction.”

“Thanks anyway. On my salary I can’t afford designer clothing.”

“Dot isn’t a major designer, though I keep telling her she could be. She only designs for friends.”

“Seriously? She could make a fortune!”

“I know. She’s very talented. I’ve offered to set her up in a shop but she says making clothes is her creative outlet and going commercial would take the fun out of it.”

Phryne had brought several of Dot’s designs with her to the castle and had already worn a few pieces on camera. She’d chosen tonight’s ensemble not only because it was beautiful but also because of its practicality. Dot always included pockets in her designs. Most of her pieces could be worn out for the evening without having to carry a bag. Tonight’s jacket had a discreet interior pocket that Phryne planned to put to good use.

She almost always wore a hidden body mic during filming, but tonight she’d be carrying something extra. Something no one else, especially not Warren, could know about.

She wouldn’t have Bert and Cec’s intercepted CCTV footage to rely on and, considering thier track record, she couldn’t trust in the integrity of the show’s producers.

They were already dealing with the murder of one contestant and had been embarrassed by the whole Rene episode. The last thing they needed was for the world to learn they’d put a man responsible for multiple sexual assaults and the death of a young woman on their show. If Phryne managed to get Warren to make an incriminating statement she thought it more than likely any footage of it would mysteriously disappear.

But Phryne wasn’t about to let them bury anything she uncovered. In addition to the cell phone she’d smuggled in, Cec and Bert had given her an ingenious little recording device and thanks to her friendly and inquisitive nature, she knew just how to best put it to use.

During the run of the show, Clara Whiting, one of the sound engineers, had been happy to answer any of Phryne’s questions about her craft.

From Clara, Phryne had learned how to conceal a microphone in any type of costume. It was simply a matter of finding the right spot to hide the battery pack—or in this case the recorder—and then, a spot of tape to discreetly tack down the mic wire, some moleskin to mask the rustle of clothing, and Bob’s your uncle!

The women in the wardrobe department had gladly supplied her with the moleskin when she complained that her shoes were giving her blisters and getting her hands on one of the many rolls of tape lying about had been a breeze. She had everything she needed, and once they were done with her in wardrobe and makeup, she excused herself to the bathroom and got to work.

The slim recorder slipped nicely into the inside pocket of her tuxedo style jacket where she could easily reach the button that turned it on.

She ran the wire up the inside front of the jacket and along the shoulder line, taping it into place every few inches. She remembered to create a little loop of wire just below the mic, like Clara had showed her. This extra length would keep the mic from becoming dislodged should the wire get tugged around a bit by her movements.

Finally, she fashioned a moleskin pocket for the microphone to keep it from rubbing against her clothes and attached it at her collarbone, just beneath the strap of her silk tank.

She checked herself in mirror, moving this way and that while swinging her arms. She couldn’t see the wire or any evidence of the pack.

She smiled at her ingenuity thinking that she might have missed her calling. She’d have made a fine private detective, or even spy.

She memorized the information Jack had passed to her and disposed of the paper it had been written on. As luck would have it, she’d already established the idea of mutual acquaintances from Warren’s days at Uni. She planned to use that, and the show’s propensity for dirty tricks, as her doorway into the conversation.

But not immediately. First she would lull Warren into a comfortable complacency while waiting to see if her friends found any more useful information. She'd messaged Dot earlier to discuss the arrangements.

Dot and Sergeant Collins would have to keep away from Phryne as much as possible . It they were caught by the show’s cameras too often it might bring attention to this not entirely above board operation when the case came to trial.

They would seek her out only if they had new information. Dot would catch Phryne’s eye and then tug on her ear to signal that they should meet in the nearest women’s restroom.

Phryne’s friend seemed equally excited about their undercover assignment but Phryne thought that might have a little something to do with Dot’s companion for the evening.

From her brief conversations with Dot, and hints Jack had dropped, Phryne suspected a growing attachment between Dot and Sergeant Hugh Collins which could have interesting implications should her own relationship with Jack progress as she hoped it might.

But tonight was not about romance. Tonight they were on a mission.

Phryne took a deep breath and stepped from the bathroom ready to put on the performance of her life.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne is on her date with Warren while Jack remains at the castle. They each separately use their investigative skills to try to trip up their prime suspects.

Jack preferred the shoe leather meets pavement type of policing but couldn’t deny that the existence of timestamped video was something of a blessing.

The abundance of cameras in the modern world had changed his profession. There were cameras for security, traffic, and every bystander carried one in their pocket. It was just part of the process now, but never before had Jack worked a case where nearly every movement made by the victim, as well as all suspects, had been captured on film.

Thanks to the CCTV footage Jack had a complete account of the victim’s final day and he could track everyone else’s movements to see where they overlapped. The only thing he didn’t have on film was the murder, but one couldn’t have everything handed to them on a silver platter.

The footage Hugh had put together showed a very familiar looking Mallory Jones. Jack watched her move with impatience, barking out orders and forever attending to the walkie-talkie on her hip.

The first time she appeared with Chad Chestler coincided with when Victoria said she sent Mal to fetch the man to her office. Jack noted that this was about one hour before Chestler made his unwelcome visit to Phryne’s room.

As they headed together toward Victoria’s office Chestler walked beside Mal, partially blocking her from the camera’s view. Jack couldn’t see it directly, but from the way the man’s arm moved behind her, it looked like he’d planted his hand on her ass. She didn’t recoil at his touch or brush his hand away.

Chestler leaned his head to Mal’s and whispered something into her ear. She made some reply and he grabbed her, aggressively pressing her up against the wall. She glanced up at the camera, pushed him off and playfully scolded him.

It wasn’t exactly confirmation of a sexual relationship but Jack didn’t imagine Mal let just anyone put his hands on her that way.

Mal and Chad disappeared into the area of the house where the control room and Victoria’s office were located. Mal didn’t reappear on camera until over an hour later. Jack checked his interview notes and saw that she claimed to have been alone in the control room for part of that afternoon. She couldn’t be specific down to the minute but if Jack could get her to admit she was in the control room for the entirety of that missing hour he might be able to catch her in a lie.

That could be helpful but of all the footage Hugh had gathered on Mal, Jack was most interested in the ninety minutes between Chestler’s assault on Phryne and the discovery of his body.

During preliminary interviews numerous witness had reported seeing Mal around the set during that time period, and the footage mostly confirmed it, but hearing about her wanderings was one thing, actually watching them was quite another.

The footage showed that Mal was, as reported, vaguely around the set. She showed up regularly on film, in different locations, but what she was doing in any of them was unclear.

She didn’t appear to be doing anything. She wandered in and out of areas making a show of overseeing the work being done but her presence seemed superfluous.

It struck Jack as false. No one seemed to be seeking her help or paying her much attention. It looked as though she was only playing at being busy rather than actually accomplishing anything.

And maybe that’s what it was. She wouldn’t be the first person to find themselves at loose ends and pretend to be run ragged just to keep up appearances. Victoria Quinn did not strike Jack as the type of boss to tolerate idle employees.

Another explanation, of course, was that she was trying to be seen by others, and the cameras, in order to establish an alibi.

It was possible that Chestler was killed during that unverifiable hour of Mal’s day—after his assault on Phryne and before Mal reappeared on the footage—but without an exact time of death it would be hard to prove she was involved without something more concrete.

Hugh’s compilation ended with a few more innocuous appearances of Mal up until Jack had the cameras shut off. All were after the murder and none particularly interesting.

Something pricked at the back of Jack’s mind. As the thought came into focus he couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed it before.

He pulled the case folder and found the notes from the first officers on the scene. It appeared a good job had been done to keep the emergency under wraps up until their arrival, but a police car and ambulance are bound to draw attention. Several people had gathered around, pressing in out of concern and morbid curiosity.

The officers had shooed them from the crime scene and diligently recorded the names of anyone present. Jack read through the list one more time to be sure and confirmed that there was no reference to Mallory Jones.

Not only had Mal not been the one to greet the officers and lead them to the body—that job had fallen to Andy—she was apparently not even in the vicinity.

It didn’t seem remotely likely to Jack that Mal, who was famous for being everywhere and knowing everything, would have been unaware of the emergency on set. The Mal he knew would have been front and center, working to control every aspect and contain any damage.

Her absence was glaring and extremely interesting.

 

* * *

 

_Damn if they weren't adorable._

Phryne almost hoped there would be no new information so that Dot and her sergeant could continue on with their date uninterrupted. The fact that she’d spotted them before they saw her, even with her entourage of cameras and crew, was testament to how engrossed they were with each other.

They were seated at a table at one of the many bars that ringed the casino floor. Dot finally spied Phryne and her head lifted, the smile on her face spreading wide. Hugh’s head swiveled then too.

It was all Phryne could do not to run over and wrap Dot up in her arms. It had been far too long since she’d seen her friend and she’d missed her terribly but Phryne was careful not to meet Dot’s eye for more than a moment.

There were quite a few heads turned in Phryne’s direction, so Dot and Hugh’s interest could be explained away, but should anyone notice Phryne paying attention to one person in particular, and become curious as to why, it would risk the whole operation.

She kept her head forward, her eyes on the man that was her target.

Warren Renquist stood waiting twenty feet in the distance. Even Phryne had to admit he cut quite a figure. Not surprising, since good looks were a requirement for being cast on the show but, even without his particular history, Warren wouldn’t have appealed to her. The same had been true of many of the men on _Happy Ever After._

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate a fine looking man but she needed something more to feel even a fleeting attraction.

There was a line in a flippant little song that she often thought of when faced with men like Warren Renquist or Chad Chestler. It went, ’ _I like ‘em pretty but I need them quick and witty.’_

For Phryne’s interest to last much past the introduction there had to be a brain behind the brawn, a grounding behind the gorgeous. She tried not to make snap judgements knowing that looks could be deceiving, but in Warren’s case she’d arrived with preconceived notions and he hadn’t disabused her of them.

From the start she’d thought him to be without conviction. A grown man who had yet to decide who he was and would bend to whatever convention he thought advantageous at the moment. She’d watched him eye up his competition and align himself with the man he thought to be the alpha of the group. The way he’d lapped after Chad had been a little sad.

And, not that clothing was of utmost importance, but he had no individual style. His look tonight, for example, was too on-trend and clearly cultivated down to the messy looking but obviously carefully coiffed hair.

Under other circumstances she might have felt sorry for him but Warren wielded his insecurities like a club. He blamed everyone but himself for his failures. He was entitled and narcissistic.

Women, in particular, were at fault for not appreciating him. It was the classic nice guys finish last complaint but he took it a giant leap further. If a woman wasn’t going to give him what he wanted, what he thought he deserved, then he would take it from her. Phryne knew the type too well.

It hadn’t been only her sister. Phryne now had multiple accounts of Warren’s barbaric and criminal behavior and she wasn’t leaving here tonight without the evidence she needed to make him pay.

All these thoughts swirled in her mind as she smiled prettily and took hold of the arm he held out to her. He bent down to kiss her cheek.

“I hope you’re ready for some excitement tonight,” he growled into her ear.

“Always,” she replied.

If he thought the shiver that ran through her was one of sexual arousal he couldn’t have been more wrong.

 

* * *

 

 

“Just the women I’m looking for,” Jack said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. He smiled, and his tone was amiable enough, but there was a distinct chill in the steel of his gaze.

Victoria was first to compose herself, throwing an insincere smile his way and professing a pleasure in seeing him. Mal was a bit slower to pull on her mask but followed her mentor’s lead.

“I have a few questions for you both. Loose ends I’m hoping to tie up. If you have a moment?”

“For you, Inspector, we’ll make time,” Victoria said, waving her hand in invitation at an empty chair. Jack remained on his feet.

“Let’s start with you, Miss Jones,” he said. “I’ve been working to verify alibis and there is a little more than a hour of your time on the afternoon of Mr. Chestler death that I can’t account for.”

“Oh?”

He flipped though his notebook methodically. “From 17:56 to 19:04 you don’t appear on any CCTV footage.”

“That's very precise!" Mal laughed. When Jack didn't join in she cleared her throat and responded more seriously. "There are plenty of places I might have been that the cameras would have missed me. Here, for instance.”

“I know you weren’t in Miss Quinn’s office because she has told me she was meeting with Mr. Chestler, and no one else, at that time.”

“Well, if that's the time in question, I was in the control room. I brought Chad to Victoria’s office for that meeting and then went straight there.”

“I have Mr. Chestler on video leaving the office around 18:50. Were you in the control room for the entirety of his meeting with your boss?”

“I believe so. I was there for awhile.”

“I can vouch for her,” Victoria spoke up. “She was still in the control room when I escorted Chad out of my office.”

“But she could have left and come back while you were behind closed doors,” Jack said.

Mal shook her head. “You’d have seen me on the footage if I left the control room. There are cameras outside both doors.”

“Alright,” Jack said, nodding as though it was only now connecting for him. “You do reappear around fifteen minutes after his exit so I'll take your word that you were here the entire time.”

“She was,” Victoria said. “I was in the  control room with her for those fifteen minutes after Chad left. We were going over a few things.”

Jack scribbled in his pad repeating what she'd just said as though writing it down for the official record. “The two of you were together in the control room for approximately fifteen minutes after the end of your meeting with Mr. Chestler." 

“That’s right,” Victoria said.

“Yes,” Mal nodded in agreement.

This was better than Jack had hoped for. Not only had he caught Mal in a lie but Victoria had walked into it with her.

“Thank you,” he said, slipping his notepad back into his pocket. “The monitors in here are always on, is that right?”

Both women affirmed this but Jack could see the curious caution rising in their eyes.

“Then can you explain why neither of you mentioned having witnessed Mr. Chestler’s visit to, and subsequent assault of, Miss Fisher?”

 

* * *

 

Phryne knew she shouldn’t have done it. It only served to irritate Warren, when her initial strategy had been to lull him into a smug complacency, but she couldn’t resist. Call it stubbornness or vanity, she couldn’t let his ridiculous misogyny stand.

As they made their way through the casino floor he’d regaled her stories of his gambling prowess and then he’d sidled up to a table with his tray of chips—financed by the show—and took the only seat.

He seemed to expect her to stand behind him like some infatuated Bond-girl, watching over his shoulder in awe.

When she reached for her share of the chips he looked up at her in surprise.

“I’ll just take these to the next table then, shall I?” She said, making her irritation at his rude behavior clear.

 Meg scrambled to get the player next to Warren to move so that they could remain together and Phryne took the seat at his side.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you knew how to play,” he said, turning his already meager attempt at a mea culpa into another slight.

“It’s just for fun, right? It’s not even our money,” Phryne said, smiling cheerfully.

Warren had put his money on the dealer so she placed a hefty bet on the player’s side. Ten rounds later she was up on him six wins to four.

“Baccarat is really just the luck of the draw,” he grumbled, “poker is my game. It requires skill and strategy.”

She gathered up her chips, settled them back into their common tray, and stood.

“Lead on,” she said, genially.

Phryne had already known that Warren was an accomplished liar. He’d have to be to have gotten away with the things he’d done. But, in an unforeseen benefit of this evening at the casino, she discovered that when he lied, he had a tell.

It was a small thing—so fleeting that it could easily be missed, and you had to be observing him in the moment he decided to lie. Once the decision had been made, the lie was executed with perfect calm and control, but in that brief moment, just as he made the choice to deceive, his jaw would clench.

This discovery meant that after an hour at the poker table his mood had not improved. He was a good player, but Phryne was better, and she wasn’t inclined to pretend otherwise just to keep him happy. Besides, she was beginning to think having him on edge might be beneficial. She would need to make him lose his cool if she hoped to get anything useful out of him.

She not only ignored his increasing irritation but went out of her way to express enjoyment in her winning ways, laughing happily and celebrating with the others at the table until he finally suggested a change of activity.

Meg checked in to suggest that their next stop be one of the bars that played live music. Apparently it was in their contract to showcase the entertainment available in the complex.

It wouldn’t be a good setting for the conversation Phryne wanted to eventually have but a stop in a bar would mean another drink. Alcohol had a way of loosening tongues and clouding judgement. An already annoyed, and then inebriated Warren, might be more likely to give something away.

They found a lively bar where a couple of musicians were playing acoustic covers of popular songs from the ’80’s and ’90’s. They were very good and the bar was full to bursting with a lively crowd dancing and singing along. Phryne grabbed Warren’s hand and pulled them toward the sound.

While Warren made for the bar, Meg used the power of her television producer credentials to procure them a high-top table just off the dance floor. After apologizing to the patrons being shoved aside, Phryne took up her spot and stood swaying to the music until Warren made his way over with their drinks.

“This takes you back doesn’t it? It makes me want to move!” She shouted over the sound.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he replied, handing her another way to get under his skin.

“Suit yourself,” she said, heading out onto the floor alone. It wasn’t long before a man approached and asked to join her. She reluctantly kept it to only two songs before returning to Warren's side, breathless and happy.

“Are you sure you won't join in?”

“I really don’t dance.” She saw the telltale clench of his jaw, “but I enjoyed watching you.”

He pushed the drink he’d got for her across the table. As soon as she’d picked it up and brought it to her lips she was jostled from behind so hard that some of the liquid sloshed over the rim and spilled onto the table top.

“Hey!” Warren shouted.

Phryne turned around to find Dot and a rather baby-faced, but burly young man standing behind them.

“Hugh! Watch where you’re going!” Dot cried. “I’m so sorry!” she said, trying to mop up the spill with a cocktail napkin. “He’s a bull in a china shop!”

Hugh reached for what remained of Phryne’s drink. “She’s right. I’m a walking disaster! Let me get you a new one.”

“That’s not necessary,” Phryne said. “Accidents happen.”

“Please,” he said, taking the glass from her hand, “I insist. They charge an arm and a leg for these and I’ve spilled most of yours.”

“Yes,” Dot said, tugging desperately on her ear. “It’s the least we can do! Oh, and look! You’ve spilled on your lovely jacket and I’ve used up all your napkins!”

“No worries! I’m sure I’ll find something I can use in the loo,” Phryne said. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, Warren.”

“Let me help! I’m very good with stains,” Dot said, hustling Phryne from the table.

Dot kept up the fussing until they were safely in the lounge and the cameras had been left behind. Phryne put a finger to her lips and turned off her mic.

Phryne held her friend’s face between her palms, pulled her in and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“You are a pro at this undercover stuff, Dot!”

“Not really! I’ve been trying to catch your eye for ages! You were having far too good a time on that dance floor!”

“I guess I forgot myself for a minute there. It was really nice to feel like a normal person just out for a bit of fun.”

“Hugh didn’t hit you too hard, did he?”

“No, but I must say, your Hugh is a very—solid—man,” Phryne said with a sly smile.

“He's not my Hugh.”

“He is if you want him to be.”

“Is my love life really what you think we should be focusing on now?” Dot scolded.

“No. You’re right. Tell me what you’ve got,” Phryne said eagerly.

Dot pulled some papers from her handbag. “Bert and Cec just sent it over and I had the concierge print it out. It’s better than the earlier stuff. Well, not better—worse, actually—but better for our purposes,” she stammered, blushing apologetically.

Phryne began skimming over the pages.

“You're right. These are more relevant to our cause. It all sounds disgustingly familiar," Phryne said. “After a certain point in the evening the victims remembered nothing but friends would later tell them they’d been dancing or talking with the men and left with one or both of them of their own power.”

“Like they were black-out drunk but none of them claimed to have overindulged,” Dot said.

Phryne felt her face flush hot as she read on. “Dot,” she said. “This is Sarah’s story.”

“The woman from the other night? The one you said might call? Are you sure?”

“The story is similar enough,” Phryne said. “This account wasn’t written by the victim but by a friend. Sarah said she’d only told one person—a best friend that urged her to go to the authorities. It looks like her friend took it upon herself to warn others about Warren and his roommate.”

“Well then that confirms her story! It’s what we needed! We can get him!” Dot cried.

“It’s not enough all by itself. It’s a secondhand account from nearly a decade ago.”

Dot looked crestfallen. Phryne gave her friend’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not everything but it will help. Thank you, Dot,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything. Just handed you some papers.”

“You’ve done a lot. And not just today. You’ve interrupted your own life to help me for no benefit of your own and you’ve kept me sane these last few months. Now, go enjoy yourself with that handsome policeman.”

“I’m not abandoning you!”

“You can hardly keep hanging around! I need to get Warren alone to have this conversation.”

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“You know me, Dot. I’m always careful.”

“Really? Then why would you accept a cocktail from a man known for spiking his date’s drinks?”

“He wouldn't dare try! We were surrounded by cameras and he's not likely to have anything on him anyway!”

“He might have sneaked something in and the cameras were focused on you while you were dancing!”

“Is that why Hugh spilled my drink? Was this Jack’s idea? I’ll kill him.”

“It was mine. But it’s funny you’d immediately blame Inspector Robinson,” Dot said, grinning like the cat that got the cream now that this particular shoe was on the other foot. “Hugh thinks you’ve got under the Inspector’s skin and now I’m thinking he might be a bit under yours as well.”

“Oh, please,” Phryne scoffed.

“He must think quite a lot of your abilities,” Dot said, dangling the bait. “He told Hugh explicitly that you were calling the shots tonight and we were not to overrule you unless your life was in eminent danger.”

“Did he?” Phryne couldn't help smiling.

“He was very firm on it. Hugh almost wouldn't go along with my plan to steal your drink because of it.”

“Well, Jack’s an intelligent man,” Phryne said, "and you shouldn't be using your influence to get Hugh to disobey him!"

“It was for your own good.”

“You worry too much! I can take care of myself, Dot.”

"Just promise me you won't take any more drinks from him."

"Yes, Mother."

“What will you do now?”

“I think it’s time to test what we have on Warren. We can’t wait much longer.”

She took Dot’s shoulders, turned her toward the mirror and pointed to the red lip print she’d left on her forehead earlier.“You might want to take care of that before we head out,” she said, before planting its twin on Dot’s cheek.

When they returned to the table Hugh was doing Dot’s bidding and dutifully standing guard over Phryne’s new drink. Clearly she already had him wrapped around her little finger.

He was chatting amiably with an irritated looking Warren while pretending not to notice the other man’s less than welcoming mood.

He was good, Sergeant Collins. Phryne could see why Jack trusted him. After another apology for his clumsiness, Hugh wrapped an arm around Dot’s waist and drew her away to the dance floor claiming the song currently playing was a favorite.

“What the hell was all of that?” Warren said grumpily, “That guy was talking my ear off. I thought he’d never leave!”

“Probably looking for his fifteen minutes,” Phryne said, nodding at the cameras. “Maybe we should find somewhere a bit more private."

She took his hand and led him outside onto a large balcony. There was a crowd of smokers by the door but she found a quiet alcove where they'd have some privacy without being entirely alone. The cameras still followed them and civilization was just around the corner.

“Great idea,” he said, sliding onto the couch beside her. “I’ve been thinking about being alone with you all night.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too,” she said, which was true, but not likely in the way he thought. She pressed her hand against his chest, holding off his advance. “Warren, we need to talk.”

“The three most dreaded words in the language,” he said, slumping back, his lips twisting sourly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing good ever comes after a woman says ‘we need to talk’. I knew this was going to happen. Nice guys always finish last.”

His sulky, self-righteous entitlement rolled off of him in waves so thick she could hear them breaking.

“Don’t pout. Nobody has finished anything yet,” she said, “but, I’ve heard some things, or rather, I’ve been given information about you that had me concerned.”

“Information about me?” There was a beat in which she saw him considering how to play this before he decided on mild, even amused curiosity. “What have you heard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add a note about the song lyrics I mentioned in this chapter. They are from a song by April Smith and the Great Picture Show called Drop Dead Gorgeous which inspired the title of this fic. 
> 
>  
> 
> Whenever I hear it I can't help but think of the scene in _Deadweight_ where Phryne is trying to bed Giorgos the Greek and ends up abandoning him for her date at Luna Park with Jack.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Jack might be on his way to a big break in his case, Phryne struggles to make headway with hers. It turns out that Warren may be even more dangerous than she'd imagined.

At least Victoria and Mal had the sense to know it was time to come clean but neither of them seemed to truly grasp the seriousness of what they’d done.

“Are you telling me that everything—that video pointing the finger at Miss Fisher and the attempts to make me look like a fool on national television— all of it was about ratings?”

“Mal gets very focused on her work. She tends to forget about the real life consequences. She realizes now how silly she’s been and she’s learned her lesson,” Victoria said.

“We’re not talking about a child caught shoplifting, Miss Quinn,” Jack seethed, “she’s interfered in a murder investigation. You both have. I should charge you right now.”

“That’s a bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?” Victoria said.

“I do not!”

“But, there was no real harm done. We never would have let Phryne really take the fall,” Victoria said.

“That is not the point! I don’t care who you know in high places, Miss Quinn. From the day I arrived you have both been impeding my investigation and it stops now.”

“It’s my fault,” Mal said, “don’t take it out on Vic. She didn’t have anything to do with this. She didn’t even know what I had done to that footage until today.”

“She was still party to withholding the original version from me,” Jack reminded them.

They remained unaware that Jack had his own copy, but had admitted to destroying the original footage and had given him an accurate accounting of what it had shown.

“She only did it to protect Phryne,” Mal said. “Vic thought she might not want anyone to know about Chad’s assault.”

Jack scrubbed his hand over his face. He couldn’t figure these two out. On the one hand they seemed to have a real bond and presented a united front. On the other, they schemed and they lied, even to each other. One minute they had each other’s back, the next they were going behind the same back they’d just been protecting.

Jack was curious to see what would remain of this curious partnership after every last truth had been revealed.

“You expect me to believe you withheld that evidence to protect Miss Fisher?” Jack directed his skepticism at Victoria. “Are you sure you weren’t more concerned with protecting your enterprise with Mr. Chestler? I can’t imagine the network would be too keen to work with anyone so prone to violence.”

Victoria sighed, knowing she was beat.

“I couldn’t let the network see that footage. We were too far into the deal. I’m sure Chad would have eventually done something to get himself tossed but if it happened before all the papers were signed, I’d have had to start negotiations all over again. As it turns out, I may have to do that anyway.”

Apparently, this was the real tragedy of the man’s death. He’d put a wrench in her plans.

“What are you talking about?” Mal broke in.

“You might find this interesting, Miss Jones,” Jack said. “Your boss and Mr. Chestler were partnering on a new show with the network.”

It was obvious from her reaction that, until now, Mal had been completely in the dark. As Jack watched the color drain from her face, the last semblance of her motive to have killed Chestler slid away with it.

“Is that true, Vic? You were working on a new show? With Chad?”

“I was going to bring you in as soon as I could. He had a decent concept but his ideas for implementation were ridiculous. ”

“Of course they were! The man was an idiot! I can’t believe you did this!”

Now that the initial blindsiding was wearing off Mal was working up a good head of steam. It took Victoria a beat to pick up on the tension and even then she misunderstood the reason for Mal’s anger.

“I really was going to bring you in,” she reiterated, “ but I didn’t want to split your focus. I need you here right now.”

“You always need me here! And I’m stupid enough to stay. I told him we couldn’t move forward until this season wrapped. Because I’m loyal to this show and I’m loyal to you and this is what I get for it?”

“I don’t understand? Chad brought the show idea to you first?”

“I think you’ll find it was the other way around,” Jack said. “Isn’t that right, Miss Jones?”

“What?” Victoria said.

Victoria was just as shocked by this news as Mal had been by the early revelation. Either they were excellent actors or both women were truly surprised to discover Chestler had been duping both of them.

They began to argue, Mal blaming Victoria for stealing her idea, Victoria blaming Mal for not coming to her with it in the first place. Jack had no time for their finger-pointing. He slammed his hand down on the desk to reclaim thier attention.

“You two can work out who has wronged who later,” he said. “It’s clear that Mr. Chestler was lying to both of you. In my view that makes for a powerful motive.”

“You think one of us killed him over this? Why would we? We didn’t even know what he’d done!” Victoria argued, “besides, we both have alibis!”

“You alibi each other for one of the most critical periods. It’s entirely possible one or both of you left the control room during the time you claim to have been together.”

“We’ve been through this already. There are cameras outside the doors. We’d have been seen leaving,” Mal argued.

“Unless the cameras were turned off.”

“They’re never turned off,” Victoria said.

“Actually, they are.” He spelled out his evidence that the cameras in and around Chestler’s room were, in fact, often shut off. “There’s no other explanation for the gaps in footage. Someone was manually turning those cameras off and whoever did that could easily have done the same to the cameras just outside the control room doors.”

“Jesus, Mal. Really?” Victoria rubbed at her eyes. She looked exasperated.

“You told me you didn’t want to hear of it happening again! I was being discreet this time,” Mal said, defensively.

“I meant that you should stop shagging the contestants, not that you should hide it better!” Victoria said.

“Miss Jones, do I take this to mean you’re admitting to having turned off the cameras?”

“I never shut off the ones by the control room—or any others. It was only ever the ones in and just outside of Chad’s room.”

“Were you having an affair with Mr. Chestler?”

“I wouldn’t call it an affair. We were fucking.”

“How often would you meet? And how was it arranged?”

“I didn’t keep track. We usually crossed paths throughout the day and it was just a matter of finding a time when we were both free. Or, sometimes, if he knew I was in the control room watching the monitors, he’d signal me from his room.”

Using CCTV for booty calls? That was a new one.

“Was it during one or more of these liaisons that you discussed your idea for this new show with him?”

“Yes. He said he could help me get it produced. He had connections in the industry.”

“Oh, Mal. You fool. He’d already burned his connections! All he had going for him was his money. I had to beg the network to take him on!”

Jack held up his hand, cutting Victoria off before another argument about the new show could erupt. “Miss Jones, can you tell me what time Mr. Chestler was expecting you on the day of his death?”

“We didn’t meet that day.”

“You didn’t turn off the cameras in anticipation of meeting him?”

“We didn’t meet, so there was no reason to turn them off.”

She was choosing her words too carefully, being evasive, and Jack was at the end of his patience.

“I’d advise you not to lie to me, Miss Jones, and dodgy semantics are as good as a lie,” he said. “We know Mr. Chestler returned to his room at some point after his assault on Miss Fisher because his body was found there, and yet he never triggered the camera in the hallway or the one inside his room. So, I’ll ask you again, did you shut off those cameras that day?”

  
“I did,” she finally admitted. “Chad and I made plans to meet as soon as he was done with Victoria. I turned off the cameras when I heard them leaving her office but I didn’t go to him because I was dealing with the fallout of his attack on Phryne.”

“By ‘dealing with the fallout’ you mean hiding the evidence.”

“I suppose so.”

“That apparently didn’t take very long. As you so helpfully pointed out, the cameras caught you leaving the control room just a few minutes after Mr. Chestler left Miss Fisher’s room. Why didn’t you go to him then? Surely he wouldn’t have minded you being a bit late.”

“After seeing the way he’d behaved with Phryne I was no longer interested.”

“Is that so?” He didn’t believe her for a second. “If you’d already decided not to keep your appointment with him, why didn’t you turn the cameras back on?”

“I guess I forgot about them.”

He gave a tilt of his head to convey his skepticism but didn’t push the issue.

“We’ll move on, for now,” he said. “You’re seen on film leaving the control room, but it’s several minutes before you appear anywhere else. If you didn’t go to him, where did you go?”

She scrubbed her hand over her mouth as though she were trying to recall the details.

“I don’t think I can be specific. I was kind of all over the place.”

“Yes,” he said with a tight smile, "the footage shows your wanderings, but try to think back. You were expected by your lover and had decided to stand him up. Where did you go instead? And, do keep in mind that if I catch you in even one more lie, I will throw the book at you.”

“I really can’t remember. Sorry.”

Jack sighed, shaking his head. Maybe a night or two in a cell would bring her to her senses.

“Stand up, Miss Jones. You’re coming with me.”

“Are you arresting me?”

“Did you think I was bluffing? I don’t make idle threats.”

“But…what for?”

“Interfering with an investigation to start. We can amend that to include murder later.”

“Murder!? You think I killed Chad? Why would I?”

“He did steal your idea and present it as his own,” Jack suggested.

“I didn’t know that until just now!”

“So you say. The thing is, motive isn’t all that important. You can’t account for your time at a very crucial point in the day. You’ve admitted to turning off those cameras to hide your comings and goings and you’ve repeatedly obstructed the investigation. That’s enough to be going forward with.”

Jack removed his handcuff from his belt.

“Wait! Wait,” Mal cried. “You’re right. I lied. I did go to his room but I didn’t kill him.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

“You have to. I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t have killed him!”

“Why is that?”

“Because he was already dead when I got there.”

 

* * *

Phryne tried to sound apologetic and willing to keep an open mind.

“I’m sorry about this. I know the show likes its dirty tricks and I thought about just ignoring it all, but we’ve really not had much time together and I think I need to hear your side of the story before I can put this behind us,” she said. 

“Put what behind us?” Warren asked. “What exactly have you heard?”

“I don’t want to embarrass you,” she sighed, “but it seems the show has dug up some unflattering stories from when you were last in this country.”

“Oh, dear,” he said, seemingly unconcerned. “What did they find? That a student studying abroad was out to enjoy himself? I’ll admit I went to a lot of parties and I’m sure I disgraced myself more than once but who hasn’t? You’re the last person I’d have pegged for a prig!”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react to that assessment of my character, but this isn’t about you partying too much or engaging in juvenile behavior.”

“What is it about?”

“Well,” the exhaled word communicated how very distasteful all of this was to her, “there are tales of inappropriate comments, unwanted advances, harassment, and even stalking.”

“What? Who is saying this?”

“Quite a few women actually. The consensus seems to be that you were a creep, Warren.”

He flinched and his eyes flashed angrily.

“This is bullshit.”

“Are you saying it’s not true?”

“Of course it’s not true! Either the show made it up to create drama or these women are looking for their fifteen minutes of fame.”

“No one is coming forward for attention. In fact these women didn’t come forward at all. Someone dug this up from years ago. The papers slipped under my door this morning look like postings from an old online message board.”

“A what?”

“We had something similar when I was at school. It was a place online where women could go to vent, or to warn other women about questionable men.”

“And I’m mentioned on this thing?”

“Several times.”

“Who are these girls? What do they say?”

“Most of the postings were anonymous but they are all fairly similar in their complaints. Several woman accuse you of some very persistent and unwanted attention.”

His expression was quizzical. “I’m not sure what you expect me to say. I have no idea what any of this is about.”

“Well, for example, one woman claimed you continued to harass her after she’d made it very clear she wasn’t interested in you.”

“That’s ridiculous. I had no trouble getting dates at school, Phryne. I didn’t have to harass anyone.”

“She said you would bother her friends trying to find out where she was and she kept finding flowers in her bedroom. She had to start insisting her housemates keep the doors locked at all times.”

“I talked to her friends and left her flowers? I’m a monster!” he said, sarcastically. “Who is this girl?”

“The accounts are anonymous,” she reiterated, "and her name hardly matters. It's the pattern that concerns me."

“What pattern? I suppose I might have occasionally come on too strong but for every girl that didn’t like my persistence there were three that were flattered by it. Sometimes that first no is just to see if you’ll put in the effort.”

“It really isn’t, Warren. No means no.”

“Maybe you’ve never played hard to get, Phryne, but trust me, plenty of girls like to pursued.”

“How far does this philosophy to pursue extend?”

“What do you mean?”

“How far will you go to get that yes?” She opened her purse and handed him the page with Sarah’s story. “This far, Warren?”

To her surprise he didn’t look the least shocked. He didn’t even look mildly uncomfortable. He looked entertained. He smirked.

“Oh, this is rich,” he said.

She hadn’t thought he’d be suddenly filled with such remorse that he’d break down and confess his crimes. She’d expected him to lie. Claim ignorance or display a defiant anger. That would have made sense to her, but his apparent amusement at being accused of a horrific crime left her non-plussed.

“Do you find it funny?” She asked, utterly stunned.

“It’s not true, Phryne!” He laughed. “You can’t believe I’d do something like this!”

“Why would anyone say something like that if it’s not true?”

“The girl involved _didn’t_ say it, did she?” He sounded like a dime-store detective delivering a denouement. “This was written by some supposed friend. She got a couple of the details correct but she’s way off base on a lot of it. It was a wild night but no one did anything they didn’t want to do.”

Warren looked almost eager to tell his salacious story and a shiver ran down Phryne’s spine as she realized she’d made a very careless error.

Warren wasn’t going to deny the accusation. He would claim that Sarah had been a willing participant. She’d be victimized all over again and Phryne had handed Warren the ammunition to do it.

She didn’t know what to do or how to stop what was about to come out of Warren’s mouth. Warren must have taken her panicked expression for surprise.

“Do I shock you? I never claimed to be a choir boy, Phryne. I had a past before we met. You did too, I presume.”

“Of course,” she said. Her mind was working frantically to try and find a way forward.

“Does it bother you to think of me with other women? I gotta say, I like the idea of you being jealous,” he said.

He placed his hand on her leg, his thumb rubbing against the inside of her thigh. She was afraid he was going to try to kiss her and that she would be unable to stop herself from turning away in revulsion.

For once, the invasive aspects of television production worked in her favor. It felt like a miracle when Meg called out for a break in the filming.

“I’m so sorry, you guys,” she said. “We’re about to lose the light. We’ll have to reset if we’re staying outside.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Warren said. “Can we keep rolling for just one more minute?”

“I suppose,” Meg said, glancing back to get a nod from the crew.

Warren rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. He went through a few vocal warm-ups like an actor in a film between takes and then he looked to Meg for the go ahead. He cleared his throat and reached for Phryne’s hands.

“You know that I want you to be my future, Phryne, but maybe we need to exorcise the past before that can happen. I think we should go somewhere we can be alone to talk more freely. We need to get everything out in the open so that we can move forward.”

“We’re never really alone, Warren,” she said lightly, angling her head at the cameras.

“They got you a room at the hotel here, didn’t they? We could go there, leave the cameras and microphones outside the door, open a bottle and tell each other all our secrets.”

His speech felt rehearsed, as though he’d been waited all night for the opportunity to suggest they make use of that hotel room. This, coupled with his complete lack of a conscience regarding his past abhorrent behavior, had Phryne wondering if she was in the presence of a sociopath.

He didn’t think the rules didn’t apply to him. Not back then and not now. She was sure his criminal behavior hadn’t been limited to his time at university in Melbourne.

But, she was never going to get him to admit to any of his crimes. She’d been wasting her time hoping for a confession and her other attempts to find hard evidence had failed.

He was going to get away with it all. And he’d continue to get away with it until someone put themselves out there to hold him accountable—in which case he could lie and drag them through the mud and make their life a living hell.

Or, he could get caught in the act.

Mal called out to end the scene. “Okay, I think we got that. What do you say, Phryne? It’s up to you. Do we get more lighting out here or are you going to the room?”

 

* * *

 

“He was face down on the floor in a pool of blood,” Mal said.

“Did you call for help?”

Jack already know the answer was no.

CCTV footage showed she’d left the scene and wandered about the set until Chestler’s absence was noticed and someone else was sent looking for him. That someone else being a nineteen year old intern who had been so thoroughly traumatized she’d required sedation and an overnight stay in hospital. She still hadn’t recovered enough to provide any useful testimony.

“He was clearly beyond help,” Mal said.

“What did you think had happened.”

“I don’t know,” she stuttered, unable to meet his eye. “I guess I thought he’d slipped and maybe hit his head.”

“Slipped?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “People slip in the bath all the time, don’t they?”

“Coming out of the tub or shower, maybe, but he was fully dressed and the floor was dry. What did you think he'd slipped on?”

“Hold up a minute. I don’t think Mal should say anything more without legal representation."

Victoria had been quiet up until now, appearing genuinely shaken by Mal’s revelation, but her protective instincts seemed to have finally kicked in. Whether her concern was more for her protégé or her show, Jack couldn’t be sure.

“Is that what you want, Miss Jones?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Mal stammered, looking uncertainly back and forth between Jack and Victoria.

“Let me call someone for you,” Victoria said, already reaching for the phone.

“Very well,” Jack said, turning off the recorder. “They can meet us at City South. Let’s go.”

Jack took hold of Mal’s elbow to encourage her to her feet.

“You’re not taking her in?”

“We can either have a casual conversation here or make things official at the station.”

Victoria made to argue further but Mal stopped her.

“I don’t need a lawyer. I just want to get this over with,” Mal sighed. Jack let go of her arm and she sank back into the chair like someone condemned.

It was like he’d told Phryne. Those that felt weighed down by their crimes were the ones to confess and often were relieved to finally have the opportunity. He restarted the recorder. It would be important later to have this next bit on tape.

“Miss Jones. Are you agreeing to continue being questioned without an attorney present?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, even leaning in to the recorder to be sure she’d be heard. 

“Thank you. Now, you say you left the control just after Miss Quinn. Where did you go from there?”

“I went to meet Chad Chestler in his room.”

“Did you encounter anyone along the way?”

“No. I’d have noticed because I didn’t want to be seen going to his room.”

“What happened when you to to the room? Did you knock?”

“I never knocked when he was expecting me. Besides, the door was open.”

“Do you mean it was ajar or simply unlocked?”

“Ajar,” she corrected.

“Was that usual?”

“No. It was always unlocked but he usually kept it closed.”

“Did you call out?”

“I think I walked in first. I didn’t want to be heard in the hall. He wasn’t in the main room so I…”

“Before you continue, first take a moment to picture the room as you found it. What was your impression of the place upon first walking in?”

He had to be careful not to lead her too much with his questioning but experience had taught him the value of slowing things down and having the witness visualize each step along the way.

“It was quiet,” she said. “After what I’d seen on the video from Phryne’s room I was expecting to find him amped up but the room was really quiet.”

“Amped up? Do you mean you expected him to have been invigorated by what had happened in Miss Fisher’s room?”

“Yes,” she said, grimacing. “Chad was a bully. He enjoyed intimidating people. It was clear that he’d scared Phryne. He would’ve liked that.”

“For fucks sake, Mal. You sure know how to pick a winner,” Victoria interjected.

“Miss Quinn, please. If you can’t remain silent you’ll need to leave,” Jack warned. He turned back to Mal. “So, the room was quiet. Did anything else stand out?”

“Such as?”

“Was anything out of place or not the way you remembered it from your previous visits?”

“I can’t say I ever paid much attention to the surroundings on my previous visits,” Mal admitted.

Fair enough, Jack thought with a small incline of his head.

“You entered the room. It was empty and quiet. What next?” He prompted.

“I called out for Chad but got no answer so I headed for the bath.”

“Was the bathroom door open or closed?”

“Open.”

“And you’d already called out and received no answer?”

“Yes.”

“The room is not large. If he was in the bathroom, with the door open, he’d have heard you call out, wouldn’t he?”

“I would think so.”

“Then why did you go to check the bath instead of assuming he wasn’t there?”

“I don’t know. I just thought I should make sure. To be honest, I was hoping he wasn’t there. After what I’d witnessed I wasn’t really in what you’d call an amorous mood but I guess I was afraid he’d be angry if he thought I hadn’t turned up.”

“Did he often get angry with you?”

“He could be—volatile. He’d been quite keen when we’d made the arrangements earlier and, as I said, I thought the encounter with Phryne would have made him even more so…” she hesitated, “I didn’t want to make him mad.”

“Good lord,” Victoria groaned.

“Miss Quinn—I won’t warn you again,” Jack said. “Miss Jones, were you afraid of Mr. Chestler?”

“No. I didn’t think he’d hurt me or anything like that. I just wanted to avoid an argument. I was afraid he might come looking for me and cause a scene.”

“So you went looking for him.”

“Yes. I went through to the bath and found him. He was on the floor. I called his name but he didn’t move. He wasn’t moving.”

“Did you look for a pulse?”

“No. There was a gash on his head and quite a lot of blood. It was clear he was dead.”

“You didn’t check for a pulse. You didn’t call for help,” he said. “What did you do?”

“I left,” she said.

Her inability to maintain eye contact may have been shame but Jack thought there was more to it. She was hiding something.

“You left? Without calling attention to what you’d just discovered? Why would you do that?”

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Mal stuttered.

“Did you touch anything?”

“No.” The answer was too fast.

“Nothing?”

“I don’t think so.”

Jack would have expected someone coming upon that bloody scene in the bathroom to have leaned on something for support—the countertop or doorjamb, but the only prints found at the scene had belonged to the victim.

“You discovered his lifeless body and just turned and left, telling no one?” Jack asked. “I have to say, Miss Jones, in my experience, these are not the actions of an innocent woman.”

“I didn’t kill him. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“Then why didn’t you alert anyone? What possible reason could you have for just leaving him there?”

“I needed time to think.”

Suddenly one of the biggest sticking points in the case made sense. Jack couldn’t believe he’d wasted so much time trying to work it out when it was so simple.

“You were tying to protect the show.” He sat back on the desk, gobsmacked.

“It didn’t work though, did it? You never believed it,” she said with a bitter smile. “And the irony is it didn’t even matter. Vic managed to pull a rabbit out of her hat."

“What did you do?” Victoria breathed. Jack thought she might faint.

“Don’t look at me like that! You thought they’d shut us down too. How was I supposed to know you’d find a way to keep us alive!”

“It will go better for you in the long run if you tell me everything now, Miss Jones,” Jack said.

She looked at him and he could see the weariness behind her defiance. She’d been waiting for this day to come.

“I took it,” she blurted out. “It was on the floor next to him. I could see what had happened so I took it and I left him for someone else to find. I wanted it to look like an accident.”


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Mal done? Knowing her it can't be anything good. And, will Phryne go to the hotel room with Warren and keep trying to trip him up, or will she throw in the towel. Knowing her, what do you think? And what will Jack make of it all?

“Where did you get all that stuff about Warren?” Meg asked.

“I was delivered to me,” Phryne said. This was not technically a lie. Meg could draw her own conclusions as to by whom. Which she did, rapidly.

“Mal could have at least let me know about it. No one tells me anything!” Meg complained. “It sounds like Warren was a pretty big loser at school. What was that last thing you showed him?”

“More of the same, really.”

Phryne had to be careful not to make any accusations she couldn’t back up. It’s why she’d shown the most egregious account to Warren rather than reading it aloud on camera.

“I think we’ve all known the plague of the overly persistent guy, right?” Meg said.

“Right,” Phryne said, smiling thinly.

“Look, if you’re really thinking of taking him back to the room, there’s something you should know. I only just found out about it or I’d have said something sooner.” Meg looked around to make sure no one else was within earshot.

“You’re making me nervous. What is it, Meg?”

“There’s a hidden camera in your suite.”

“What? That’s not the agreement.”

It was all spelled out in the contracts. These final dates were to allow for a heightened element of intimacy. If Phryne chose to invite the man to stay with her for the night it was supposed to be private. No cameras or microphones allowed.

“I know. I was as surprised as you. According to the camera crew, it was done on Andy’s orders. I’ve been trying to reach Mal to ask about it but she’s not picking up. I’ve been assured there is only one. It’s in living area outside of the bedroom. At least they didn’t plan to invade your privacy that far!”

“Does Warren know of it?” Phryne asked.

“Not from me. But, Andy is his producer, so, probably,” Meg said.

“Is there sound, or just film?”

“No sound. Just film and it’s not a live feed. There’s a micro-card to record the video. Do you want me to have it disabled?”

Phryne pictured the layout of the room where she’d prepared for tonight’s date. She wasn’t blessed with a photographic memory but she was highly observant. She could remember the huge windows overlooking Port Phillips Bay flanked by heavy drapes with thick braided and tasseled tie-backs.

There were lush furnishings including a couple of overstuffed chairs and a relatively large loveseat. Nearby, a well stocked honor bar held overpriced macadamia nuts and tiny bottles of liquor. She considered the most likely spot for the camera to be hidden and a plan formed quickly in her head.

“No. Let it be," she said, "but there is something else you can do for me.”

Twenty minutes later Warren accompanied her into the suite. As soon as the door was closed he reached for her, pulling he close. She pressed her hands against his chest, holding him off.

“I’ve had champagne sent up,” she said, nodding towards the bar. “Why don’t you pour us some?”

She walked across the room, purposefully turning her back to him and making a show of slowly pulling the heavy drapes across the windows. She dropped the tie-back cords onto the occasional table next to the loveseat and turned to face him again.

“I thought it might be more cozy without the city lights,” she said, taking the glass he held out to her.

“To us,” he said, raising his glass. The toast was highly unoriginal but she tilted the glass to her lips nonetheless and smiled at him.

“I’m just going to take a moment to freshen up,” she said, heading for the bedroom. “Don’t go anywhere.”

 

* * *

 

Mal had seen the gash in Chestler’s head and the sculpture on the floor at his feet and had understood immediately what had happened.

After her initial shock, her first thought was that a murder on set would result in the show being shut down. Her next, that Chad’s death put her back to square one in finding financing and support for the new show she hoped to produce.

Without Chad’s money, the only thing she had to recommend her new show was the strength of her record as an Associate Producer on _Happy Ever After_. If _Happy Ever After_ was shut down under a cloud of scandal, she had nothing.

An accident was the only alternative she could see that might save her career. While still unfortunate, an accidental death was, by definition, unintentional and impossible to avoid. The network couldn’t hold that against them. It was her best shot.

She’d used a hand towel to wrap up the sculpture and stuffed it into the ever-present messenger bag she carried. She thought she might have grabbed onto something to steady herself when she first saw the body so, just to be safe, she wiped down the counters and any other surrounding surfaces before hurrying from the room.

“I had that thing in my bag and no idea what to do with it. I was on edge waiting for someone else to find Chad. I just walked around in a mild panic.”

“I noticed that on the CCTV footage. For awhile you appeared everywhere but you were conspicuously absent when the police arrived,” Jack said.

“I couldn’t be anywhere near the scene. I still hadn’t got rid of the damned thing. What if they asked to look in my bag?

“Finally, I decided that there were so many knick-knacks around this place that no one would notice if one suddenly appeared in a new spot. When the cameras were shut down for good, I ran upstairs and popped it on the shelf.”

The weapon had been an issue for Jack from the start. Chestler’s murder had all the earmarks of a spontaneous act but it took a cool customer to kill in an act of uncontrollable rage and then immediately calm themselves enough to efficiently cover up the crime.

Had the weapon been hastily discarded, perhaps tossed somewhere out of doors or in the trash, it would have made more sense. But it had been found hiding in plain sight, in a place the killer was likely to pass it by on a daily basis.

That suggested a level of detachment from the act itself and an absence of remorse that Jack wouldn’t expect of someone still reeling from an unintentional act. It is a rare, and usually highly disturbed, individual that can take a life with so little negative personal repercussion. Mal had been able to think more dispassionately about the weapon because she hadn’t been the one to wield it.

It was possible she was lying to him now, and really was just an incredibly callous individual, but Jack didn’t think so. The story Mal told was perfectly consistent with the person she’d shown herself to be all along. This show and her career were everything to her and everything she did was in service to them.

In some ways, Jack understood her. His job occupied an outsized place in his life as well. He hoped he would never let it become important enough to lose his moral compass the way she had. If Mal Jones wasn’t a lesson in the importance of a work/life balance, nothing was.

“Your actions might result in a murderer going free,” he said, trying very hard to control his anger.

“Mal sometimes gets too wrapped up in the fantasy we create here and forgets about real world consequences,” Victoria said. She rested a protective hand on Mal’s shoulder.

Jack didn’t think that throwing a tantrum about how their interference had set him back would be productive. What was done was done and they’d face the music later for their actions. Right now, his only hope was that the threat of legal repercussion hanging over their heads might yield some helpful information.

“Lie to me again and they’ll be no safe haven for you, but if you prove yourselves useful now, I might put in a good word for you with the prosecutor,” he said, not that he had an ounce of sway with the prosecutor but they didn't know that.

“What do you what to know? We will cooperate fully,” Victoria promised, far too late in the game.

“Were either of you aware that Chestler was using drugs while he was here?”

“The steroids? Yes, I knew about those,” Mal admitted, glancing quickly at Victoria. “He had a prescription.”

“A prescription? What, exactly, was the medical condition he had that required anabolic steroids?”

“Look, I found out about them during the recruiting process. I told him a spot on the show was impossible because of them, but he came back with a doctor’s prescription,” she shrugged.

“Didn’t it occur to you that it might have been bought and paid for?”

“Of course, but I really didn’t care how he got it as long as I could show we’d done our due diligence.”

“And the other drugs?”

“What other drugs?”

“He wasn’t just abusing steroids,” Jack said. “The autopsy revealed other drugs present in his blood as well.”

“I didn’t know anything about that. Only the steroids,” Mal insisted.

“Do you know where he kept those?”

“In his room. Among his toiletries. They were labeled like a normal prescription.”

“We found nothing like that among his effects,” Jack said.

“Well, I don’t know what happened to them! I certainly didn’t take them if that’s what your implying. That never even occurred to me!”

This was probably true. She’d covered her bases before letting them on the set. She had no reason to fear them being found. But if she hadn’t taken them, then someone else had. Possibly the killer.

“Where might he have gotten the other drugs? If steroid use was enough to keep someone off the show I don’t imagine you allow other non-prescribed pharmaceuticals?”

“We don’t,” Victoria said, “and we do our best to ferret it out, but contestants are always trying to smuggle in prohibited contraband.”

“They bring in their own wardrobe and other things. We look through it all, of course, but they can be creative. We once had a contestant sew packets of pills right into the lining of a jacket,” Mal said. “But I don’t know why Chad would bother with smuggling when he could have just paid for another scrip.”

“If he didn’t bring the drugs in himself, then someone else on set was supplying him,” Jack said. The memory of something Phryne had told him flared in the back of his mind.

“I doubt it was a crew member,” Victoria said. “They’d never risk it if they wanted to continue their career.”

Jack pulled out his phone. “I’m going to need to search the belongings of the remaining contestants and possibly the crew as well. After all the time that’s been wasted, I just hope I can get a rush on a warrant,” he grumbled aloud.

“You don’t need to bother with a warrant,” Victoria said. “All our contestants have signed a waiver and the crew will do what I tell them.”

 

* * *

 

Phryne set her champagne glass down on the coffee table and pressed her hand to her forehead.

“I’m sorry Warren, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m suddenly feeling ill.”

“Don’t get up,” Warren said, placing his hand on her thigh to hold her in place, “it’ll only make it worse.”

She looked at him, furrowing her brow and blinking blearily.

“What was in that drink?”

“Just something to help you relax.”

She let her head drop back heavily against the cushion. His hand moved slowly up her thigh and he leaned in, pressing his lips to her ear.

“That’s better,” he whispered. “Whose in charge now, huh?” His tongue flicked out to taste her and he nibbled at her neck. As much as she wanted to pull away, she couldn’t.

“I’m…I don’t want to.” Her words were slightly slurred but intelligible. “Please…stop.”

“Don’t stop?” He said, his lips curling up into a sneer. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She could’ve sworn he threw a look over his shoulder to where she suspected the camera was hidden. He seemed to be angling his body to keep her own somewhat blocked from its view.

She feebly attempted to push him away but he wrapped her in an embrace and maneuvered her unto her back on the couch beneath him.

He stood then, looming over her, and started unbuckling his belt. She stared up at him, her eyes wide with panic. A sort of whimpering complaint lodged in her throat.

“I agree,” he cooed, quickly stripping off his trousers. “The bed would be more comfortable but I think we’re both too impatient for that, don’t you?”

She raised a hand weakly to ward him off but he caught hold of it and kissed her palm.

“Patience, sweetheart. Not long now,” he said.

He straddled her body, one knee bent on the couch by her hip, the foot of his other leg on the floor to steady himself.

Phryne’s mind was working furiously. Her chest heaved with the effort to breath. She dropped her chin to her chest. “Get off me,” she huffed through gritted teeth.

“You’re a bit more talkative than I generally like,” he mocked, “should’ve gone with a higher dose but that has it’s own risks. It’ll look better if you're livelier anyway, but you could try not to look so angry.”

She fought to stay calm. She would only get one shot at this and she had to make it count.

“It’ll be like living out a fantasy,” he cajoled. “I’ve read that most women dream of being overpowered. I really think you’re going to enjoy this.”

He braced one hand on the arm of the couch above her head. When he leaned down to kiss her she made her move.

She raised her forehead suddenly, smashing it into his nose and throwing him off balance. Then she grabbed hold of his shoulders for leverage and brought her knee up as swiftly as she could, straight into his groin. In his current state, the contact was immediately incapacitating.

He howled loudly and she shoved him off of her. When he tumbled to the floor, recoiling in pain, she was on him in a minute, driving her knee into his back and pinning him down. She grabbed the drapery cords she’d left on the table and quickly tied his wrists together behind his back. She used the second cord to bind his ankles.

It was less than a minute before she climbed off him and sat back on her heels, sweeping an errant hair back off of her face.

“You were right,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “I did enjoy that.”

 

* * *

 

“Come on!”

Jack punched the elevator button repeatedly.

“Hold up, mate! I’ll override the controls.”

The Crown Casino’s head of security, a former police officer and Jack’s good friend, skidded to his side and stuck a key into the elevator panel.

“They’ll come straight down now.”

They commandeered the first car to arrive. The key prevented it from stopping on any floor other than the one they sought.

While he was sure this was saving loads of time, it still wasn’t fast enough for Jack. His mind was racing with horrible possibilities and underneath that was more than a little anger at her carelessness.

They heard the anguished shout just as they reached the door.

“Miss Fisher!” Jack hollered, banging on the door, as his friend fumbled momentarily with a pass key. “Phryne!”

Jack’s hand one was on the knob before the light flashed green. He burst into the room calling out her name again. It took a minute for his brain to catch up with his eyes.

He watched her stand up, straightening her clothing and smoothing her hair. Renquist lie half-naked on the floor at her feet, tied up like a hog.

“Inspector!” she said, her eyes lighting up with delight, “your timing is impeccable.”

 

* * *

 

“Is he hurt?”

“He has been seen by a doctor and he will live,” Jack replied.

“Pity.”

She swept across the room and perched on his desktop as though she owned the spot. She looked no worse for her ordeal.

He studied the whorl of her ear as she tucked her hair behind it. Followed the set of her jaw and the curve of her lips trying to reassure himself that she was truly as unaffected as she appeared to be. He allowed the back of his hand to brush lightly against the outer edge of her thigh for the briefest of moments, just to feel the solidity of her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be giving your statement?” He asked.

“All taken care of.” She waved her hand breezily. “Is he cooperating?”

“I haven’t officially questioned him yet but he’s already making plenty of noise. He doesn’t have nice things to say about you.”

“I’m crushed.”

“He claims everything was going along swimmingly when suddenly, for no reason, you _flipped out_ ,” Jack used his fingers to make little air quotes around those last two words.

“I think I acted quite reasonably.”

“It’s really nothing to joke about, Phryne. That was quite a chance you took.” It was a mild rebuke, at best. She was teasing about it now, but the encounter with Renquist couldn’t have been amusing in the moment.

“I was never in any real danger, Jack. Warren came out the worse.” Her smug, self-satisfied smile was far more charming than it should have been and his relief that she was safe too great for him to be truly angry with her.

“Those restraints you had him in were impressive. Where did you learn to do that?”

“I once spent a week on a dude ranch in Montana. There was a cowboy…”

“I get the picture,” he laughed, holding up his hand.

“He’s just lucky I didn’t slip, and tie those cords around his neck,” she said.

There it was. The underlying anger, fear, and disgust Jack had known was there. He gave her a look that he hoped conveyed to her just how much he admired her bravery and restraint.

“I’m very glad you didn’t. I wouldn’t have liked arresting _you_ half as much.”

“Whereas I might very much enjoy having you cuff me,” she said, grinning wickedly at him in a return to teasing banter. Not that Jack had expected anything else. She wasn’t one to put her vulnerability on open display. He felt privileged to have seen even a moment of it.

There was so much he wanted to know about what had happened in that room. He’d made sure she’d given her statement to a more neutral party to avoid any appearance of favoritism or impropriety but now his curiosity would no longer be quelled.

“How did you manger to avoid the drink he spiked?”

“I had promised Dot I wouldn’t accept a drink from him and I don’t like to break a promise. When Warren suggested we go back to the suite, I asked to have some champagne sent ahead to the room with instructions to place one bottle in the sitting room and one in the bedroom. I wasn’t really sure he’d try anything, but I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“While he poured drinks from the bottle in the sitting room, I made sure I had my back turned giving him opportunity to slip something in.”

“I thought you said you weren't taking chances!”

“I also said I never planned to drink it. Let me finish! I excused myself to ‘ _freshen up'_ , bringing my drink with me, and I switched it for a glass from the champagne in the bedroom. I also took a moment to shift the recorder from my jacket to my bra for...reasons.”

“Clever,” he conceded, though he was none too happy about the way she’d put herself in danger or the thought that she'd made concessions so that Renquist could lay hands on her without discover her secret.

“Thank you," she said brightly. "I tried to only touch the stem of the glass he poured.”

“We brought everything back with us, including the drink you left in the bedroom. We’ll dust it for prints and get the liquid tested, but from what you’ve said I think it’s pretty clear he thought he’d drugged you.”

“Have you seen the video?”

“Not yet.” Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to watch it. He knew he wouldn’t like seeing her in a compromised position—even now, when he knew she’d been play-acting—but he thought he might enjoy the bit where she overpowered her attacker.

“I wish you’d given me a head’s up, Phryne. It was only chance I arrived when I did.”

“There was no reason to contact you. I was only playing a hunch and the production crew was still in the building,” she said. “Why did you turn up, anyway? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Something you said about an argument got me thinking. There was a crew member you spoke to that said he overheard Chestler threatening to reveal damaging information on Renquist. We never did know where Chestler got the amphetamine that was in his system.”

“You think Warren was Chad’s supplier and Chad was threatening to reveal that?”

“I thought it possible, so I searched Renquist’s belongings.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Oh, I found something. Quite a lot of somethings.”

“And so you rushed to my rescue.”

“Actually, my plan was to bring him in for questioning. It was only when I arrived and inquired as to his whereabouts that I learned you’d been reckless enough to get caught alone with the man.”

“I didn’t get caught. It was carefully planned.”

“ _Planned_ I’ll give you. But, _carefully_?”

“Alright, I’ll admit it was a last-ditch effort. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the man and I’m usually quite good at reading people. I picked up on his tell at the poker table right away. But later, when I confronted him with those accounts of harassment and assault, he had an answer for everything and I almost think he believed the lies he was telling.”

“Maybe he does. He’s wasn’t lying to you about the assaults because in his mind there was no need to lie.”

“Are you saying he really doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong?” She said in disbelief, “all that crap about the women really wanting it and fulfilling fantasies? He truly believes that?”

“That would fit with the things he’s saying about tonight and it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard the argument. Luckily, the legal system disagrees with him.”

“Not to mention the laws of morality.”

“He won’t be able to talk his way out of what he did to you. The audio recording is clear. You ask him to leave and tell him to stop more than once. Between that and the hidden camera footage, it should be open and shut.”

“It’s a good thing that camera was there.”

“Not for our friends at _Happy Ever After_. They’re in some pretty hot water with The Crown for hiding it in your suite.”

“I imagine a story about the invasion of a guest’s privacy wouldn’t be good publicity.”

“It’s also against the law. The hotel is considering pressing charges,” Jack said. “Did you know it was there?”

“Not right away. Meg warned me about it when the subject of going back to the room came up. I was ready to throw in the towel by then. I had my recording equipment but he hadn’t said anything all night to incriminate himself and I had no reason to think more conversation would change that. The camera gave me another opportunity.”

“An opportunity to offer yourself as bait,” he grumbled, impressed by her ability to think on her feet if not by her penchant for putting herself at risk while doing so. “Why was it there anyway?”

“I don’t know for sure, and neither did Meg, but my guess is that Warren and his producer had cooked up some plan to provide a bit of fireworks for the show. I’ll give Andy the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t know about the drugs,” she said.

“You think they wanted to catch you and Renquist in an intimate moment?”

“I don’t think they were hoping to film us playing chess,” she said. “They wanted to catch something significant. I decided to make sure they did.”

He held his tongue but his face must have shown his fury that they would compromise her like that. To film her, without her knowledge, in what would have been a very private and personal moment was a new low. She reached down and lightly stroked a finger along his jaw.

“I’m alright,” she whispered.

He nodded, swallowing down his anger. The people he wanted to take it out on were nowhere near and she didn’t need his self-righteous rage right now.

“When you question Warren, can I be there?” She asked, bouncing quickly back from the tense moment.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“Come on, Jack! You wouldn’t even have him here if not for me! I can help you with what to ask him.”

“The victim of a crime does not sit in on the questioning of the suspect.”

“Maybe there are times they should.” They both swiveled towards the voice.

Phryne hopped off the desk, spinning to face the newcomer. “You must be the Superintendent,” she said, beaming. “You’re just as Jack described you!” Phryne crossed the room and pulled Margo into a fierce embrace.

Margo looked slightly stunned by the exuberant and affectionate greeting. She patted her unruly hair self-consciously upon release from Phryne’s grasp.

“Thank you so much for all of your help. You’re the only one that seemed to think my sister’s case worth pursuing,” Phryne said. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“I wish I’d been able to do more from the start,” Margo said. “If we hadn’t failed your sister so horribly it wouldn’t have come to this.”

“You did the best you could at the time and that’s all anyone can do. There’s no sense dwelling in the past. Even if we only get him on what happened tonight it will still be some justice.”

“I think we’ll get him on more than just tonight,” Margo said. She handed Jack a sheet of paper. “This just in from the team you called to the set earlier.”

He skimmed the page and a wide smile spread across his face.

“I thought you’d like it,” Margo said, “are you ready to talk to him?”

“Nearly. Just waiting on the lab. I found someone to rush a test on that champagne.”

“Whenever you’re ready, then,” Margo said. “I’ve put him in number three to wait.”

Interrogation room three was the only interview room with a two-way mirror to a space next door. It also happened to have an ancient light fixture that buzzed annoyingly adding to the discomfort of the unlucky soul awaiting interrogation.

“Miss Fisher, would you like to join me in the observation room?” Margo asked. “We can keep an eye on Mr. Renquist until Inspector Robinson’s ready for him.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jack objected.

“Where’s the harm? I think she might enjoy watching him squirm a bit,” Margo argued.

“I would!” Phryne agreed, throwing a grin over her shoulder at Jack as she followed Margo from the room, “and please, call me Phryne.”

Jack opened his mouth then shut it again, shaking his head and bending it over the paperwork on his desk. No one was listening to him.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Warren Renquist in custody, Phryne is free from the confines of the show. Phryne deals with the emotions the arrest brings, and both she and Jack ponder what this new freedom means for their relationship.

“He looks smaller,” Phryne said.

“It’s the restraints. It’s hard to look tough when you’re chained up like a dog on a leash,” Margo said.

The small room held only a chipped linoleum table bolted to the floor and a few uncomfortable looking chairs. It had a claustrophobic look, with dingy grey tiles and fluorescent lighting that bounced off of institutional green walls, casting a sickly pallor over Warren’s face.

He was clearly trying to hold on to his dignity but failing spectacularly. He shifted in his chair and kept looking around the room, his eye darting to the door as though expecting something truly frightening to come through it. He looked like he might wet himself if someone so much as shouted boo in his direction.

One of his hands was shackled to a metal ring bolted to the table and he couldn’t seem to decide what to do with the other one. It fluttered from the table top to his lap. He brushed back hair that was not out of place, scratched at his head, his chin, and once gingerly pinched his nose. The resulting grimace made Phryne think it was still sore from when she’d slammed her head into it.

She found that oddly satisfying.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Margo asked.

“No.” Phryne shook her head, “but I hope I hurt him.”

The vengeance in her voice surprised her, as did her ever increasing feelings of rage. She kept her eyes facing forward on the man that she believed had taken her sister from her. She had detached herself from it all when she’d set upon this course, but now, when it looked like he would actually face consequences, the anger and pain came surging back.

If Margo was disturbed by the sudden aura of bloodlust, she didn’t let on, but Phryne didn’t like the feeling one bit. Warren may be a monster who deserved everything coming to him and more, but she couldn’t let this man turn her into something bitter and twisted. She tried to remind herself that it was justice she sought, not revenge.

“Your sister didn’t deserve it. Neither did you,” Margo said quietly. “You don’t need to be ashamed of anything you’re feeling right now and anyone that would judge you for it can sod off.”

Phryne looked at the woman standing at her side. She had kind eyes and gave the impression of being befuddled and a little scattered. Like central-casting’s idea of a spinster librarian.

It was her careless manner of dress, and the reading glasses tangled atop the waves of untidy hair. But the first impression was deceptive.

“Shall I ‘sod off’ then as well? Because I’m judging myself for the way I’m feeling. I don’t like it. It’s not who I am.”

“Then it will pass. People have enough difficulty with grief in general. The kind of grief you’ve suffered is unfathomable. Let yourself feel whatever you need to feel but don’t let him finish what he started all those years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ten years ago you shattered, and since then you’ve been searching for some way to put yourself back together again. This isn’t it. Not entirely. Seeing him locked up and knowing he can’t hurt anyone else will help but it will never be enough. It won’t make you whole.”

“I think that’s why I’m so angry right now. Because he’s still here and Janey is not. I’m left missing a piece of myself that I will never get back. A piece that I shouldn’t have lost. And I know that sounds like it’s all about me but, at the moment, it’s all I can feel.”

“I learned early on in this job that justice isn’t all it’s cracked up to be but it’s the best we have. It’s cliche to say this but, an eye for an eye really does leave the world blind.”

“I suppose I already knew that or I’d have just killed him,” Phryne said. “Believe me the thought occurred and I bet I could have gotten away with it.”

“Maybe. You’re very clever. But there are detectives out there that are quite clever too, and I would hate for you to have taken that chance. I like you, Phryne.”

“I like you too,” Phryne said sincerely. “It might have been an interesting game of cat and mouse, but not worth the risk. I don’t do well in confined spaces.”

“But you’d wear the hell out of a prison jumpsuit.”

Phryne laughed. She could see why Jack and this woman got on so well.

“Can I stay to watch him be questioned?” Phryne asked.

Margo shook her head. “Having you here now is as far out of bounds as I’m willing to go.”

“Fair enough,” Phryne said. “It’s satisfying to finally see him in there. Thank you.”

"He will go down for what he did to you but you should be prepared that we may never get him for what he did to your sister.”

Phryne nodded. It was a grim thought but not one that hadn’t already occurred to her.

“You said earlier that you thought we’d get him on more than just tonight. I know it may be hopeless in Janey’s case, but what about the other women?”

“I’m not giving up on anything yet, and once this goes public, more women may come forward, but when I said we’d get him on more I was talking about something else altogether.”

An idea began forming Phryne’s head but before it had time to gel into anything solid, the door to the interrogation room opened, diverting her attention.

Warren nearly jumped out of his skin. He hopped up onto his feet to try and hide behind bluster and bravado.

“I think we can listen to a minute or two,” Margo said, smiling deviously and flipping a switch, “just until things get official.”

“What is the meaning of this?! What right have you to detain me?” Warren cried. He’d clearly been working on the line for some time but it rang so false Phryne nearly laughed out loud.

“Sit down please, Mr. Renquist,” Jack said.

“Have you arrested her? That bitch attacked me!”

“Sit down,” Jack said again, without the earlier politeness.

“I’m an American citizen! You can’t keep me here!” Warren’s voice cracked. He was out of his depth and clearly frightened but was doing his best to appear wronged and indignant.

“Your embassy will be informed of the situation first thing in the morning. But I’ll warn you there’s very little they can do. The Australian government does not look kindly on people that smuggle drugs across our borders.”

Warren collapsed down onto the chair under him, finally succumbing to the gravity of his situation.

“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” Jack said, “and, while we’re here, I have some questions for you.”

It was the Jack Phryne had met on the other side of that crime scene tape. Arrogant, intimidating, and stone cold sexy. It surprised her to realize how recent that first meeting really was and how well she’d come to know him since then.

Like his boss, he was very different from his first impression—well, not the sexy part, and any arrogance was earned—but he wasn’t really the pompous and sanctimonious man he initially appeared. That was mostly for show.

He was smart and dedicated. Funny, kind and extremely caring. But Warren wouldn’t see any of the real Jack. The man seated across the table from him was Detective Inspector Robinson.

As soon as he turned on the tape recorder, Margo flipped the switch to cut the sound from the other room.

“Sadly, that’s my cue to get you out of here. We wouldn’t want to compromise the investigation by failing to follow procedure.”

There was a note in her voice that implied she had a good idea of just how often Jack had skirted the edge of proper police procedure recently. Her willingness to overlook it marked her higher in Phryne’s esteem.

 She took one last look before following Margo out. Her eyes flitted over Warren’s face and settled on the back of Jack’s head. She could almost feel the curve of his skull beneath her hands, the texture of his hair slipping through her fingers.

“He really stuck his neck out for me.” It came out alarmingly wistful. She cleared her throat, “which I’m sure he’d have done for anyone in trouble.”

“Yes,” Margo said, “but I don’t think you’re just anyone to him.”

Phryne sucked in a breath, waiting, but that seemed to be all Margo had to say on the subject of her subordinate’s romantic life.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll find a uniform to run you home.”

“Home?” It hit Phryne for the first time that she could actually go home. Finally. It was over.

“Unless you want to go back to that set?”

“They can’t be planning to keep going?” She said, horrified by the thought. There was a small twinge of quilt that Lyle, and especially Cato, would not get a proper goodbye but it was fleeting.

“Last I heard Victoria Quinn was trying to work something out but I don’t see how they go on after this. Either way, no one could expect you back there. At least not tonight."

 _Home_ , Phryne thought. Of course she wanted to go home. She’d been longing to be among her things and to sleep in her own bed. But she had unfinished business to tend to first.

“Do you think Jack will be long?”

“Hard to say. Would you like to wait?”

There was no sly smile or judgmental frown to accompany Margo’s question. She didn’t so much as hint at an opinion, and in a manner very much out of character, Phryne wished for one.

She wanted some sort of sign that Margo approved, because Margo would not approve if she thought Phryne was bad for Jack and that was currently Phryne’s biggest concern.

She didn’t need Margo to tell her who Jack was, she knew enough about that already and what she didn’t know she preferred to discover at her own pace. Preferably a long, slow pace, but not if her presence in his life was going to be damaging to him.

“I would like to wait,” she said. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Not for me,” Margo said.

It wasn’t necessarily a roadblock but it was far from the endorsement Phryne sought.

“I think I’ll wait then,” she said. In the absence of anyone else’s guidance, she would chart her own path. It was what she’d always done.

“You know the way to his office. If you get sleepy, he tells me the couch in there is quite comfortable.”

“Thank you, Margo. For everything.”

 

* * *

 

Jack hated the man sitting across from him. Truly hated him.

It wasn’t that he generally liked the perpetrators of the crimes he investigated but there were times when he could muster sympathy. There were extenuating circumstances that could drive even good people to horrible acts but this wasn’t one of those times and Jack had rarely felt so viscerally repulsed by a suspect.

An excess of emotion was not productive during an investigation and an interrogation was as much an exercise in theatrics as it was a fact finding mission, so he put aside his own feelings, adopted a tone that bordered on hostile, and got to work. After going through the required warnings, he sat back and folded his hands together on the table top.

“Mr. Renquist. A number of illicit drugs were found among your belongings earlier tonight, can you explain how they came into your possession?”

“You went through my things? That’s illegal!” Warren sputtered, turning red.

“I think you’ll find you signed away any right to privacy when you joined that show,” Jack replied calmly. He reached into an envelope and pulled out a clear evidence bag full of various packages of pills and powders.

“I have no idea what those are,” Renquist sniffed.

“They are a variety of controlled substances.” Jack laid a list of the bag’s contents on the table, “I found them hidden under a false bottom in your toiletry kit.”

Renquist clenched his jaw. “Well, somebody else must have put them there. They’re not mine.”

“Your fingerprints are on the bags. Can you explain that?”

“Someone must be trying to frame me.”

Jack’s expression was one of extreme doubt. “Why would anyone do that?”

“I have no idea!”

“There are no prints but yours on the packages. You have no explanation as to why someone would want to frame you and the drugs were found in a hidden compartment in a bag belonging to you. If someone was trying to frame you, wouldn’t they have left them somewhere less concealed where they’d be more easily discovered?”

“How should I know? You’re the detective! You figure it out. All I know is they’re not mine.”

“Among these drugs, we found a substance known as GHB,” Jack said. “When we tested the glass of champagne you gave Miss Fisher tonight, we found the same substance. Can you explain that?”

“Is she trying to excuse her vicious attack by claiming to have been under the influence of drugs?”

“She’s claiming self-defense after you failed to comply to her repeated requests that you stop your advances.”

“That’s ridiculous! She never asked me to stop.”

“Are you saying she welcomed your advances?”

“She invited me into her room!” He said, as if that settled the matter.

“And then, a short time later, she asked you to go.”

“Is that what she told you?” He jutted out his chin defiantly.

“She didn’t have to,” Jack said. He’d previously prepared Phryne’s recording, cueing it up to the part of the evening where Phryne had said she was feeling ill and asked Warren to leave. He pressed the playback button letting it run until they heard Phryne ask what was in the drink and Warren’s reply.

“Can you confirm for me that yours is one of two voices on the recording I’ve just played?” Jack asked.

“Where did you get that? I never agreed to be recorded.”

“I’ll take that as a yes and once again remind you of your contract with the show,” Jack said blandly. “Now, what did you mean when you said there was something to relax her in the drink?”

“I just meant the champagne.” Warren was starting to sweat now.

Jack nodded and resumed the playback. The man had been far too chatty and Phryne’s recorder picked up every word. Jack didn’t even need to be interrogating him. Between the drugs in his possession, the audio, and the video, they already had enough to send the case to the prosecutor. This interrogation was only to unsettle the man and soften him up a bit.

When the playback reached the part where Phryne defended herself, Jack could see the gears turning in Renquist’s head and the moment he thought he’d found a way out of this mess.

“It’s sounds awful but it’s not what you think. She was in on it. It was part of the show! I’ve no idea why she changed her tune,” he said.

“Are you saying it was always the plan to drug and assault Miss Fisher, and that you believed her to be aware of, and have consented to, those actions?”

“It wasn’t an assault! Stop calling it that! They said she wanted me to do it. It was a game!”

“A game?”

“It was supposed to be like a fantasy. They gave me the drugs and told me she wanted to pretend to be overpowered by me."

“Who told you this? Who gave you with the drugs?”

He hesitated. “I really shouldn’t say. I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

“If that’s what you prefer,” Jack said, “but you leave me with no choice other than to draw my conclusions from the evidence at hand, and believe me, it’s enough to begin a prosecution.”

“Against me?”

“You’re the only one here, Mr. Renquist. What does that tell you?”

Renquist was shaking now, the handcuff tethering him to the table clattered against the linoleum.

“I’m trying to help you,” Jack said. “If you were deceived by someone else, it’s in your best interest to tell me everything you can. Who gave you the drugs and told you to put them in Miss Fisher’s drink?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “They were left under my door with a note telling me what to do with them.”

It was a desperate lie that did nothing to explain the rest of the drugs. It would probably be proven that the dose he gave Phryne came from the same batch as the stuff in his room and this new ruse of his would fall apart. Still, Jack played along.

“Where is this note now?” Jack asked.

“It said I should get rid of it, so I did. I burnt it.”

“That’s too bad,” Jack said. “Without it we’re back to the evidence at hand, and all if it points to you.”

“This is ridiculous! I’m being railroaded here! Aren’t I allowed legal representation?”

“That is your right,” Jack affirmed.

“Then I’m not saying another word without a lawyer.”

Jack shrugged and terminated the interview, turning off the recording equipment. His demeanor immediately changed from aggressive and accusing to almost sympathetic.

“I’m afraid you will be our guest at least overnight, Mr. Renquist. We won’t be able to arrange representation until the morning,” Jack said, “and as long as you’re here, I’d appreciate it if I could follow up on some questions regarding the murder investigation.”

“Chad’s murder?”

“Between you and me, that’s my priority. This other thing is peanuts,” he said, as though taking the other man into his confidence. “After all, Miss Fisher wasn’t really harmed, and from what I’ve seen of that show’s dirty tricks, I’m inclined to believe your version of events. A good lawyer will have you out of here in no time.”

“But, you said…”

“All that hard nose stuff was just for the recording. My boss will be reviewing it and she’s got a thing about us taking these supposed ‘crimes against women’ seriously,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. He leaned across the table and freed Warren from the handcuffs.

“Is your boss the one that brought me in here? She looks like a real hag. Must be tough working under someone like that,” Warren commiserated.

“Might be nicer if she were a little easier on the eyes,” Jack laughed. “She’s really busting my arse about this murder too. Do you think you could help me out by answering a few questions? You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours," he said.

“I don’t know how I can help but I’m happy to try.”

“Cheers, mate. That’s all I ask.” Jack said. He took the small recorder he’d been using at the set from his pocket. “Just gonna record this for my notes, that okay?”

“Sure,” Warren said.

“Right then. Do you remember telling me that Chad Chestler was having an affair with someone from the show’s crew? Have you given any more thought to who that might have been?”

“No, but it was someone pretty high up.”

Jack looked disappointed. He’d dangled the carrot of a quid pro quo arrangement in the hopes that Warren would feel an urgency to give his something worthwhile.

“You said as much already and that wasn’t all that hard to figure out on my own. They run a tight ship around there. No underling would’ve been able to keep an ongoing affair so quiet. I was really hoping you’d know a little more,” he said. He started straighten his files, preparing to leave. “I wish I knew where they were meeting and how they kept it such a secret.”

“Wait! I know that!” Warren said, clearly excited by the prospect of having something valuable to hold in trade. “They met in his room! They’d make their plans ahead of time and whoever he was sleeping with would turn off the cameras. That’s how I knew it was someone high up.”

“The cameras in his room were turned off?”

“Yes. And the one in the hall outside so she could come and go without being seen.”

“Damn! Why didn’t I think of that? Did Chestler tell you this?”

“Bragged about, more like. Said all he had to do was signal to her through the camera in his room and she came running. Like ordering take-away, he said.”

 _Lovely_ , Jack thought. He hid his disgust behind a smile, but this was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

“Well this certainly narrows my pool of suspects. Not too many people have access to those cameras.”

“Glad I could help.”

“I’ll make sure you get an extra blanket tonight. Those cells can be cold. Sorry I can’t provide better accommodations. Hopefully you’ll be able to get some sleep.”

Renquist looked unhappy but didn’t want to complain too loudly and risk this budding new friendship.

“I’ll get to call a lawyer in the morning, right?” He asked.

“First thing. You have my word.”

 

* * *

 

Jack took a couple of steps into this office without bothering to turn on the light. He tossed the case files onto his desk. All evidence had been returned to the locker and Warren Renquist was bunked down in a cell for the night. In the morning the forensics team would be going over his clothing with a fine tooth comb.

A blow like the one that killed Chestler would have left spatter and they would find it, regardless of how small. Jack had his man. It was just a matter of tying up the loose ends, but first, he needed a bit of shut eye.

The problem was, as he soon discovered, his usual spot was currently occupied.

He’d shared a bed with her already but had yet to see her sleeping. She looked peaceful. And uncharacteristically still. Earlier events clearly were not troubling her enough to keep her awake.

He turned one of his guest chairs around to face the couch and sat down. He felt slightly guilty looking at her like this since she was unaware of his presence, but it was his office she’d wandered into so she couldn’t accuse him of trespassing.

He let his gaze rest on her face. It was no more, or less, beautiful for it current lack of animation. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, her breathing rhythmic and relaxed. The urge to touch her was nearly impossible to resist but he didn’t want to wake her. He needed to get a handle on himself before he faced those all-seeing eyes of hers.

Earlier tonight, the magnitude of his fear for her safety had shaken him to his core.

He’d already known that he was more than a little in love, but the blackness that had gripped him when he’d thought he might lose her was a depth he wasn’t sure he was ready to plunder.

It stood to reason she wouldn’t daily be throwing herself into the path of danger. He wouldn’t be constantly fearing for her life, but there was more than one way to lose someone you loved.

Jack had known loss before. He’d survived then and he would again. The question was, should he cut his losses now, when the brevity of their connection would likely make any pain at its severance short-lived, or should he risk a longer recovery and dive into the terrifying, but potentially fantastic, unknown.

Of course, this might not even be up to him. Their relationship had started under highly unusual circumstances, at a time when she was, for all intents and purposes, a captive. It would be understandable if, when she found herself back in her real life, she decided this wasn’t what she’d thought it was.

He might prefer having the decision taken out of his hands. That way it wouldn’t be his own cowardice that held him back.

“Do you always think so loudly?”

Jack startled. She hadn’t moved a muscle or even opened her eyes.

“How long have you known I was here?”

“Not long. I was asleep until a moment ago, but the heavy sighing woke me.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries. It wasn’t a very sound sleep.” She rolled onto her back, folding her arms behind her head.

“How are you holding up?” He asked.

She took a silent assessment of herself. “Better, I think. I don’t feel so angry anymore.”

“Was Margo right? Did it help to see him?”

“It did.” She sat up, stretching. “She’s a remarkable woman, your boss. You really need to stop lying to her.”

“I never…” he sputtered, “I might have misled here and there, but that was for you!”

“Oh, please. Take responsibility for your own actions, Jack, but I’m not talking about that.”

“What then?”

“She said you told her this couch was comfortable. It’s anything but!”

He rolled his eyes at her. “You could have gone home to your own bed hours ago.”

“I was waiting for you,” she said, pouting prettily. “What did he say in there?”

He didn’t even mind that this had less to do with him and more her insatiable curiosity. This part of their relationship—the back and forth where she probed for information while he did his best to hold her off—was much safer ground.

“Margo hustled me out just as you were getting started. I didn’t get to hear anything!” She complained.

“And you thought I’d fill you in? Fat chance,” he said.

“Come on, Jack!”

“He didn’t say anything you needed to hear. And you don’t need to worry, Phryne. We’ve got everything on tape. He’s not walking away this time.”

“I guess that’ll have to do for now.” She yawned and got to her feet. “Are you done here? Or, do you have more work to do?”

“There’s not much more I can do until morning.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d take me home.This isn’t the best place for us to talk.”

So much for safer ground. She headed for the door expecting him to follow.

Jack was frozen in place. They did need to talk about where to go from here and there was no reason to assume that talk would end up breaking his heart. She hadn’t done or said anything to make him think her feelings had changed but, as much as they both might want it to, there was no guarantee their relationship would work outside of the pretend world in which it had begun.

Once again Jack found himself pondering the benefits of cutting his losses.

It felt as though a wide chasm had opened in the floor between them and he didn’t know if he should walk away from it to safety or risk a fall.

“Are you coming?” She asked.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Jack follow Phryne? 
> 
> Will Warren Renquist, Mal, Victoria and all the other miscreants in this story get their comeuppance? And, who killed Chad Chestler?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who am I kidding? No one cares about any question other than that first one, right?
> 
> Too bad. I've tried my best to answer them all in this very lengthy final chapter and epilogue. Thank you all for sticking with me on this to the (hopefully not so bitter) end!

The conversation was light. Consisting mostly of Phryne giving driving directions that Jack didn’t really need.

It was a little conspicuous how studiously they both seemed to be avoiding any mention of tonight’s event or the things between them that waited to be said. But it was a short drive. Not enough time for things to grow awkward.

Unsurprisingly, her address was in tony Port Melbourne and she owned the modern terrace home outright.

Jack parked his Wrangler in her carport and they entered the house through the garage. The first thing he saw was her late model Porsche 911 Carrera convertible; Christmas Beetle green with camel leather upholstery and matching ragtop. It was gorgeous and easily worth ten of Jack’s ancient jeep.

This initial reminder of their different stations in life was the first of many.

He followed her up the stairs and on each landing was reminded of their disparate life experience. By the time they reached third, and main, living level his head was spinning from the sheer size and splendor of the home.

“You do know that my entire place would fit in your garage, don’t you?” He said.

“Is this going to be a problem for you, Jack? That I have more money than you?” 

“Not at all. As long as my lack of it isn’t a problem for you.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse how much money you make. I’ve got enough for us both,” she said, cheekily.

She shoved a bottle of whisky into his hands, grabbed two glasses and headed up yet another flight of stairs.

When they reached roof level, she pushed backwards through a door and out onto a private patio with a view of the city that would make the builders of the Melbourne Star cry. Jack was speechless.

“Nice. Isn’t it,” she said, “this is what made me buy the place.”

“Really? It wasn’t the dining room large enough to fit a conference table? There must have been twenty chairs around that thing!”

“Sixteen. I use this place for business as well as my home,” she said, “and I thought my money didn’t bother you.”

“Just wrapping my head around it,” he said. He didn’t know anybody that lived like this.

“Well, hurry up with that, we’ve got bigger issues in front of us and not a lot of time.” She took the whisky bottle from his hand and splashed a generous portion in each glass. “By mid-morning tomorrow what happened tonight will be all over the place. Someone will talk and the vultures will descend.”

“Is this about your propensity to draw attention from the press? We’ve talked about this already. I can handle it.”

“An ordinary amount of attention, maybe,” she said, “but this won’t be ordinary. What do you think it’s going to look like when it’s learned that the man I believe to have killed my sister, and who attempted to assault me, has also been arrested for the murder of one of his fellow contestants on a reality dating show where they were both vying for my hand?”

“How did you…”

“Not to mention that the show has already tried to link me romantically with the man that arrested him,” she finished, finally taking a breath. When she laid it all out like that it did sound sensational.

“He’s only in custody for the assault on you. I haven’t arrested him for the murder,” Jack said.

“But you plan to. Isn’t that right?”

“How do you know about that? Did Margo tell you?” Jack found it hard to believe his boss would have conveyed such sensitive information to anyone, let alone a civilian.

“No. You did,” Phryne said, “Well, come to think of it, you both did.”

“When?”

“When we were in your office. You said you found drugs in Warren’s room and thought Chad had been threatening to reveal Warren as his supplier. And then Margo gave you a report on evidence gathered from set tonight which seemed to please you. She also said Warren would be held responsible for more than just tonight’s events.”

Jack was gobsmacked. “And from that you put it all together? I’m going to have to learn to be more careful what I say around you.”

“So you do think Warren is responsible for Chad’s death? What happened to Mal? I thought we agreed she was the most likely suspect.”

“She’s not entirely off the hook but recent information has me looking in a new direction. It’s just a working theory at the moment. I had hoped to have a bit more time to flesh things out before taking anyone into custody but that didn’t go quite to plan.”

“Apologies if Warren’s attempt to attack me has inconvenienced you,” she sniffed.

“I didn’t mean…I was happy to haul him in, Phryne, and more than relieved that you weren’t hurt, but now he’s requested legal representation and I’ll have to walk a fine line. My questions on the murder cannot so much as dip a toe into the assault case unless his solicitor is present.”

“I see,” she said.

“And, as the drugs seem to play a role in both cases, it’s particularly tricky.”

“What’s this new information that made you look his way?” She asked.

He didn’t see the harm at this point, so he told her about Mal’s confession.

“She claims she hid a murder in order to save _Happy Ever After_?” Phryne said, dubiously. “Jack. Are you sure this isn’t another lie to cover her own culpability?”

“Of course I’m not sure! She’s muddied the waters significantly but it makes a certain sense. I don’t think she knew Chestler had betrayed her, so she had no motive to kill him. She needed _Happy Ever After_ to succeed if she hoped to advance her career.”

“Alright, so you’re now doubting Mal’s motive, but why settle on Warren? What’s his motive supposed to be? I know Chad had threatened to reveal his drug dealing but that was a fairly idle threat. Chad couldn’t do that without revealing his own drug use.”

“You’re right. I don’t have a great motive, but his alibi has always had holes,” Jack said. “If I take Mal Jones at her word, then the timeframe for the murder has shrunk significantly and those holes start to look more meaningful.”

Jack explained how Renquist’s nine unaccounted for minutes on the day of the murder had lodged themselves in his subconscious like a splinter. The man’s behavior had been highly suspicious. Jack was sure all that nervous pacing and his disappearance from camera range had to mean something.

“It got to the point where I conducted an experiment and proved he’d had enough time to sneak to Chestler’s room, and back again, using the window in his own room and one in the room neighboring Chestler’s,” Jack said. “That report Margo gave me tonight confirmed that his prints were on the sills in both of those rooms.”

“That is suspicious, but that route you’ve described would have him avoiding the cameras in his own room only to drop him in full view of the one outside Chad's door. What would be the point of that?”

He couldn’t help but smile at how quickly she summed up the problems with his theory and didn’t hesitate to challenge him on them. It was exactly what he needed right now.

“He’d have had to know the cameras in and around Chestler’s room weren’t working for my theory to hold water.”

“Could he have known that?”

“Yes. Chestler often bragged to him about having an affair with someone. Renquist thought it was someone of importance and he admitted to me tonight that he knew how they were keeping things quiet,” Jack said. “If Chestler mentioned his upcoming liaison to Renquist, he’d have known the cameras would be turned off.”

“It’s easy enough for me to believe Chad would mention it. If only to brag,” Phryne said. “So your theory is that Renquist knew the lover’s arrival was imminent and took the chance to kill him within that window of time between the cameras being shut off and the lover’s arrival?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s awfully risky. He could have been interrupted by the lover.”

“I know. That’s why I doubted it, but in addition to his finger prints on the window sills, I found Chestler’s fake prescription for steroids among Renquist’s things.”

“Really? You might have mentioned that earlier, Jack. I doubt Chad would have handed that over so it would seem to prove Warren made it into Chad’s room unseen at some point, but there’s still one thing that bothers me.”

“Just one?” There were a number of things still bothering him.

“You’ve always said you didn’t think the murder was planned. Have you changed your mind about that?”

“No. Not really. That’s the one thing I felt confident about and if I’m wrong about it, I’ll eat my hat,” he said.

“You don’t wear a hat. Unless you’re counting that bike helmet and I don’t recommend trying to digest that.” She patted the cushion next to her and he sat down by her side feeling deflated.

“Do you like him for the murder, Jack? Is that what your gut is saying?”

“It is, for what that’s worth,” he said.

“I think that’s worth quite a lot.”

“We’ll see. Renquist’s things have been collected and we’re testing the clothes and shoes he was wearing on the afternoon Chestler was killed. If we get lucky enough to find some trace evidence, then all my remaining questions won’t matter much.”

“Except to you,” she said, bumping playfully against his shoulder. “You won’t be satisfied until you have all the answers.”

“Ah, but finding them will be that much harder without your counsel, Miss Fisher,” he said, bringing the conversation back around to the reason she’d brought him here tonight.

“I have the utmost faith in your abilities,” she said.

Despite an attempt on both their parts to keep a light tone, a loaded silence fell. They leaned heavily against each other.

“You’re right about the attention this will bring,” he said, “and I’d be willing to take even that, but this isn’t going to simply be a matter of personal irritation.”

“No,” she said.

“I’ll have to testify at any trial and there’s a good chance you’ll be called as well. If it’s public knowledge that we’re dating the defense will make an issue of it.”

“Yes,” she said, “and if they ask whether we’ve ever discussed either of the cases, it could come out that I gave you access to illegally obtained evidence. It would irreparably damage your case, tarnish your reputation and put some very good friends of mine in legal jeopardy.”

It didn’t escape his notice that her concern was for everyone but herself.

Any satisfaction that a monster like Renquist was at last behind bars and that they were finally free of the confines of that idiotic show disappeared. Swallowed up by the realization that, even now, they couldn’t be open about their relationship. They couldn’t even go on hiding it as they had been. It was too risky.

“We can’t see each other,” he said, rather unnecessarily. It was clear they’d both already come to the same conclusion. “We can’t even appear to be acquainted outside of the normal interaction I might have with a witness.”

“Not until after any trial,” she agreed.

“Which could take months,” he said. At least for a moment she looked as crestfallen as he felt. It was some consolation.

“It’s temporary, Jack,” she said, returning to her default setting of cheerfully optimistic.

“I hope so,” he said, “but, we haven’t really known each other that long and our time together has been under very strange circumstances.”

They’d been on the verge of seeing if their relationship could work in the real world. A prolonged period of radio silence now seemed likely to destroy any chance at success.

“What are you saying?”

“Just that I don’t want you making me any promises. I wouldn’t want you feeling obligated to me—to us,” he said.

“Are you throwing in the towel already?”

“I’m trying to be realistic. Cases can drag on.”

“If you think your feelings will change, and you don’t have any interest in waiting this out, then just say so, Jack. I won’t hold it against you. You need to do whatever is best for you.”

“I can’t see my feelings for you changing,” he said, “but I don’t want you putting your life on hold for me. You’ve done enough of that already."

“How noble of you, Jack.” She crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest and her eyes flashed with anger. “Stop hiding behind the pretense that this is for me and just say what you mean. It’s my feelings your questioning here, isn’t it? You think they won’t last and yet you’re quite sure your own will. You are steadfast where I’m capricious. Is that what you think?”

If ever there was confirmation of Da Vinci’s observation, she was it. To see into Phryne Fisher’s soul, you need only look into her eyes, and right now the sight set him back in his seat. He’d angered her, possibly hurt her as well, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I don’t think that. That’s not what I meant at all!”

“Would you care to explain what you did mean?”

He reached for her hands and was relieved when she let him hold them.

“I want to be with you and I _do_ believe you want to be with me, but that’s not possible right now,” he said, choosing his words very carefully. “And as long as that is the case, I don’t want your feelings for me to be some kind of anchor around your neck. This—by the way—is not at all noble. It’s calculated, Phryne. I happen to think it’s my best chance at ever having you back in my life.”

He couldn’t imagine anyone would come along to replace her, but then he’d led a fairly solitary and quiet existence for some time now. She, on the other hand, lived her life largely and he didn’t want to become an impediment. Nothing killed romantic feelings faster than resentment.

“So it was just your perfectly awful way of saying that if you love something, you set it free?” The accompanying eye-roll was highly sarcastic.

“I hope I’m not that cliche.”

“If you prefer, we’ll say you’re pragmatic. And for the record, I wouldn’t want you to feel tied down either. Neither of us should be putting our lives on hold.”

“Agreed.”

There was another moment of heavy silence. Both of them feeling the weight of something ending. Then she shifted in her seat, cocking her head flippantly.

“I wasn’t exactly planning to sit at home of a night knitting, if that’s what you were worried about,” she said. “Although knitting looks like a perfectly pleasant past time. Perhaps Dot will teach me and I’ll knit you a scarf. What color would you like?”

“Surprise me,” he said, trying to rally to her level.

“You’re the only one that will be surprised and I’ll try not to be offended by that,” she said, suddenly serious again. He had a feeling they were no longer talking about knitting . “No matter how I spend my time, you won’t be easily replaced, Jack Robinson, whatever you might think.”

He hated himself for being so transparent. The last thing he wanted to leave her with was the impression he’d needed her reassurance and flattery.

“You’re just saying that because I rescued you tonight,” he said, as arrogantly as he could manage. “They call it hero worship. Happens all the time.”

It had the desired effect. She was immediately an adorable combination of incredulous and indignant.

“You did not rescue me!”

“Didn’t I? You had him tied up pretty good but my arrival saved you from having to explain a very dicey situation.”

“I’ll give you that much,” she grudgingly admitted, “and I suppose I should thank you for that.”

“It was my pleasure.” He laced his fingers through hers and brought her hand to his lips. “I am going to miss you, Phryne.”

“It’s not time for that yet, Jack.” She stood up and tugged him to his feet. “You seemed impressed by the dining room earlier,” she said, lightly. “I think you’ll like the bedroom even better.”

 

* * *

 

“I should go,” he said, for the third—no, fourth—time.

She made no effort to remove the arm draped over his chest or extricate her leg from between his thighs. Apparently he’d become the boy that cried wolf and she was no longer taking his words seriously. One of these times he really was going to have to follow through on them but a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

This was the longest they’d been allowed to indulge in each other and he liked being tangled up with her, despite the fact that he was beginning to lose feeling in the arm currently pinned underneath her body.

He shifted to his side, bringing them chest to chest. A tingling sensation followed the relieving rush of blood to his fingers.

She nuzzled into him, the warmth of her body making his already heavy limbs melt further into the soft linen sheets. A weighty doona completed the perfect cocoon.

“If I stay much longer, I might fall asleep.”

“Mmm.”

“And I really should go before it’s light and someone spots my jeep in your carpark.”

Her hand began wandering over his body. “Or, you could stay and we tell everyone to sod off and mind their own business.”

He stilled her hand. It was too easy to forget the problematic situation they were in when she was touching him like that.

“We made this bed, Phryne.”

“Exactly. And I’m proposing we lie in it.”

He laughed. A dark, ironic rumble. He’d never realized he was such a glutton for punishment. He should have left as soon as the circumstance became clear. It was only going to be that much harder to stay away from her after tonight.

“You don’t mean that,” he said. “You very clearly laid out the stakes earlier. This isn’t just about us.”

He shifted away from her and, this time, she did nothing to stop him. He kissed her on the forehead, rolled out of the bed and began scavenging about the room for his clothes. She sat up watching him, holding the doona against her body for warmth.

He found his trousers and shorts on the floor near the door and his dress shirt at the foot of the bed. It was a good thing he was leaving now and would have time to go home for a shower and change of clothes because everything was rather rumpled.

“Have you seen my undershirt?” He vaguely remembered her having pulled it off of him in a careless rush.

“It’s here.” She leaned over her side of the bed to pick it up off the floor but when he reached for it, she crushed it to her chest.

“Finders, keepers, Jack,” she said, quickly slipping it over her head.

“That’s not actually a valid legal concept.”

She tsked at him, shaking her head. “Consider it on loan, then. And as repayment, when you come back to reclaim it, I’ll let you remove it yourself.”

“That sounds like an excellent return on investment as well as incentive to work my arse off to get a confession and speed things along.”

“Don't work too hard, Jack. I rather like your arse as is.”

 

* * *

 

“Is there room for one more?”

“Of course! Please, sit down,” Phryne said, sliding over on the bench to make room for him. “I wasn’t aware you would be attending.”

“I was in the courthouse on another case and thought I’d stop in.”

“I see," she said simply. "It’s nice to see you again, Inspector.”

“You as well, Miss Fisher.”

They’d not been this near to each other since that morning he’d dragged himself from her bed before dawn. It was immediately clear that the time apart had done nothing to diminish his feelings for her. If anything, they’d intensified. He was finding it a little hard to breathe.

Her estimate of how quickly word would leak had been depressingly accurate. As had her prediction that the story would explode. There’d been collateral damage but, as was often the case, the severity of injury varied.

Andy lost his job over the hidden camera debacle but narrowly escaped legal troubles when The Crown declined to press charges after a deal was struck between the complex and the television network.

A new show was in the works about a fictional member of Australia’s longest running male cabaret show, _Princes of the Night_ ; one of The Crowns’ premiere attractions. Largely set onsite, it would prominently feature the casino complex and provide loads of free advertising.

As for _Happy Ever After_ , the current season finished quickly with the final dates episode culminating in the arrest of Warren Renquist and a spate of interviews with the remaining contestants to wrap things up. Next season, under a new show runner, they would flip the script and Cato had signed on as the Knight looking for love among a sea of hopeful Damsels.

Mal managed to escape the entire fiasco largely unscathed. Anticipating that she would face charges of interfering with an investigation, Victoria had her whisked away to a recovery facility and lined up doctors to attest that she’d suffered a breakdown due to the shock of finding her lover dead. She’d supposedly been in an ‘altered state’ when she’d tampered with the crime scene and not responsible for her actions.

Prosecutors declined to pursue the case against her. Jack suspected there was some powerful, behind the scenes sting pulling involved, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Mal would spend just under two months at a luxury rehab spot in Byron Bay before joining Victoria as a Senior Associate Producer on a new show entitled, _Last Chance Romance_.

Jack found the lack of comeuppance annoying but not worth dwelling on. In the end all that really mattered was that he’d got his man and a guilty plea to boot. With evidence mounting against him, Renquist had cracked.

As Jack had always thought, the murder had not been planned and was the end result of a series of increasingly frustrating encounters.

The afternoon of the murder, after Chestler had walked away from their earlier argument, Renquist had laid in wait for him wanting to once again plead his case regarding the new show he so desperately wanted to be a part of. He’d happened upon him fresh from his confrontation with Phryne and impatient for his scheduled tryst with Mal. In no mood to continue their debate, Chestler had been scornful and insulting, sending Warren back to his room to lick his wounds.

But, in dismissing Warren, Chad had made a fatal error by mentioning his expected lover. Eager to finally discover the identity of the person he suspected was helping Chad launch the new show, Warren snuck over to Chad’s room in the hopes of catching them in the act, planning to use their secret affair as leverage.

He burst through Chestler’s unlocked door only to find the lover had not yet arrived. Chestler had laughed at him, calling him inept and ridiculous. He said was sick of the pathetic groveling and would use his influence to make sure Renquist was the very next contestant eliminated.

Renquist saw all his hopes going down the drain, and when Chestler turned his back and walked away, flicking him aside like nothing more than annoying fly, Renquist was gripped by a fit of rage and despair.

He said he didn’t remember much after that, but his decision to steal Chestler’s steroids suggested he wasn’t in the mental fog he claimed, and the blood evidence found on the clothes he’d been wearing left little wiggle room.

His confession resulted in a guilty plea and eliminated the possibility of a lengthy court battle. Jack’s unconventional means of investigation were never brought to light and Phryne’s role, along with those that had assisted her, was kept undercover.

The assault case played out a bit differently. Renquist at first maintained his innocence despite the video evidence, claiming he was acting under instructions from the show and truly believed Phryne to have been in on the ruse.

But, public sentiment was firmly against him and his arrest opened a floodgate of accusations from his past. His solicitors were finally able to convince him his best bet was to make a plea in which he admitted to his guilt in the attack on Phryne in exchange for any other assault charges being dismissed.

Since he was already facing years in prison for the murder, and many of the assault accusation against him were years old and would be difficult to prove, prosecutors agreed to the deal.

Of course this meant that he would never be publicly held accountable for many of his crimes, including his role in the death of Jane Fisher.

Jack knew that would be difficult for Phryne. He also knew she would need to see this through to the bitter end and that there was no way she would miss Renquist’s sentencing. She would be in the courtroom regardless of the painful memories it would evoke and, though his presence might bring renewed publicity just as it had begun to die down, Jack was desperate to be by her side to offer what support he could.

He hadn’t really had another case in the courthouse today. Margo had seen his distraction and been kind enough to give him the afternoon off, saying he was no use to her in his present state. He’d rushed over just in time to make the proceedings.

It was no longer in the news daily, but the crimes had been too sensational for the press and the public to have entirely moved on and the courtroom was crowded. Jack and Phryne sat close out of necessity but did not touch, and after their initial greeting, did not speak.

Phryne kept her eyes forward, her face expressionless as the charges against Warren Renquist were listed. When he stood to receive his sentence, Jack heard her sharp intake of breath at his side. Her hand on the bench between them flexed, reaching out, and he grasped it. He didn’t so much as glance in her direction as he interlaced his fingers through hers and held on tight. She expelled the air from her lungs and her breathing settled.

He leaned closer. “You put him here, Phryne. You did this,” he said, feeling a pride he wasn’t sure he was entitled to.

“We did this,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze before releasing it.

It was over quickly and he had to part from her far sooner than he’d have liked. As he rose to leave, she touched his arm lightly.

“Inspector?” She said, stiffly. “I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done to get us to this day.”

Her sudden formality was disheartening. He wasn’t sure if it was for him or their audience and he was unable to read the expression in her eyes.

“I only wish I could have done more, Miss Fisher,” he said, acknowledging her unnecessary gratitude.

“You’ve done enough,” she said. “He’ll be where he can’t hurt anyone else and I’m more than ready to put this all behind me.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, his heart sinking and the lump in his throat making further speech impossible.

He stepped back to allow her to exit in front of him and slowed his pace to put even more distance between them. Now was not the time to see just how much of the past she wanted to leave behind. There were too many prying eyes around.

By the time he made his was out of the courthouse she was surrounded by press. Jack hung back, keeping out of sight.

“What’s next for you, Phryne?” A reporter called out.

“Back to work. I’ve neglected my real life long enough,” Phryne said, barely slowing her step as she made her way toward the stairs.

“You were sitting with Detective Inspector Jack Robinson today. Can we read something into that?”

“Such as?”

“During the run of the show there was some suggestion that you two had a bit of a romance going on. Any truth to that?”

“I had quite enough on my plate and Inspector Robinson is a man of integrity. He was there to do a job,” she said.

“So, there was nothing to it? Your affection for each other looked very real.”

Phryne stopped and turned toward the gaggle of reporters and cameras.

“The affection is real, on my part,” she said, seriously. “I have enormous respect for Inspector Robinson. He is a good man and an even better detective and I'd like to think I can call him a friend.”

“A friend? Is that all?” One persistent woman said, thrusting a microphone into Phryne’s face.

She smiled enigmatically then turned away with a wave of her hand. “I came here today to see justice served, and I have. That’s all I have time for now. Thank you.”

The prosecutor emerged from the building providing a new victim for the press and she was able to be on her way.

Jack leaned against a pillar, watching her go. She never looked back.

  

* * *

 

 

“You didn’t answer that last question,” Jack said when she opened the door. He’d lasted all of one hour before going after her.

“Jack!” She looked around furtively before grabbing his lapel and hauling him inside. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you,” he said.

“Are you insane! I wouldn’t even let Dot come to court and then you waltz in and sit down right next to me! And now you show up at my door! What are you thinking?”

Jack felt his face burn with shame. He wrung his hands, feeling like a fool.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I wanted to be there for you but I should have considered you might not want me there.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I wanted you there, you idiot!” She slapped an open hand against his chest.

“What was that for?” She’d said she’d wanted him and yet she seemed angry with him. Jack was utterly confused.

“Have you forgotten what they put you through? Reporters were camped at your door twenty-four seven!”

“I’m aware, Phryne. It was my door, after all.”

“They’ve only just left you alone and now you’re practically daring them to come at you again!”

“I don’t care about that. I care about you. I want to be with you, Phryne and I need to know—do you want to be with me?”

He knew there’d been other men since they went their separate ways but none of them had seemed to stick, so he’d been unable to let go of his hope.

“It’s not that simple, Jack.”

“It is that simple. Either you want me or you don’t.”

 

Phryne blinked back tears, just as she had when he’d sat down by her side in that courtroom earlier. She’d been stunned that he had come, but the comfort of his warm shoulder pressed against hers had been enormously welcome.

These last few months had been rough. It had been truly ugly when the press descended. Even uglier than she’d imagined.

The wound of her sister’s death had been reopened. And then, as if the story of murder and assault hadn’t been sensational enough, video of the her and Jack from the set of _Happy Ever After_ started making the rounds wreaking further havoc. They’d both had to publicly deny rumors of an affair. Fortunately, never under oath.

Still, the paparazzi had been relentless in harassing her and they’d done much the same to Jack. They’d hounded him to the point he couldn’t leave his home without them snapping pictures for the tabloids.

She’d heard from Dot, through his sergeant Hugh Collins, that he’d even had to give up his morning bike rides for a time. Apparently he’d been less than pleasant to work with as a result.

She’d started very publicly dating in the hopes of drawing the heat away from him. There’d been evenings with an Italian tennis pro and an American movie star among other, less newsworthy men. It seemed to work and she’d been buoyed by reports that Jack’s life was returning to normal.

She’d been sure that when all was said and done he’d decide she wasn’t worth the trouble, yet here he was, standing in her foyer, asking her if she still wanted him.

She raised her palm to his cheek and he closed his eyes, covering her hand with his own and leaning into her touch. It felt right to be connected this way, just as it had when she’d reached for him earlier today at the hearing.

It would be so easy to take his hand and lead him up the stairs. The only thing stopping her was a nagging worry that he’d come to regret this. Regret her. She let her hand drop.

“What about your position? Your work?” She asked.

“The brass seems to like the publicity.” His eyes held that mischievous glint she’d been seeing in her dreams for months.

“But _you_ hate it!”

“Yes. I do. But I hated being apart from you more,” he said. “I needed you to know where I stand—how I feel—but this isn’t up to me alone and if it’s not what you want anymore, then I’ll respect your wishes. The last thing I want to do is become a nuisance. Just tell me, Phryne. Do you want me or not?”

“Of course I want you,” she breathed. “I never stopped wanting you. But please, Jack. Think about what this might cost you!”

She wasn’t sure he’d heard anything past her first words. The smile breaking over his face was making her feel giddy and she knew her own expression looked equally besotted. He reached for her, placing his hands tentatively on her hips.

“Some things are worth what they cost. You might even be considered a bargain,” he said, with a roguish tilt of his head.

“Did you just call me cheap, Jack?”

“What? No! I didn’t mean. What I meant was…”

“I knew what you meant,” she said, laughing at the horrified look on his face.

She threw her arms around his neck and held on tight.

 

**Epilogue**

* * *

 

 

“Where’s Phryne tonight?”

“At some charity event or gallery opening. I lose track,” Jack said.

“One of her foundation dos ?” Hugh had been to plenty of those with Dot Williams on his arm.

“Not tonight. I think she said she was attending this one as a favor to a friend. She wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“Then you’re probably glad to miss out, huh?” Hugh said. They’d pulled a late shift and were on their way to a call about a suspicious death at a private home in South Yarra.

“Too right,” Jack said, but truthfully he’d found he didn’t mind attending those types of things with her. He might not be the most social person in the world but he could carry on a conversation with a stranger, and when he was unable to find anyone interesting to talk with, observation proved entertaining enough. He liked people watching and especially enjoyed watching Phryne work a room.

“That’s going well then? You and her?” Hugh asked.

Jack sighed, keeping his eyes on the road. “I hope you’re better at hiding your hand when interrogating suspects, Collins. Tell Miss Williams she’ll have to do her own investigating from now on, will you?”

“Sure. Right. Sorry, boss.”

“What do we know about this body?”

The answer was not much. Details from dispatch were scant but they arrived on scene quickly and would soon enough know more.

They drove past an open privacy gate. There were a number of luxury automobiles parked along the drive leading to an enormous, contemporary style, single-family home. Every light in the place appeared to be on.

“Fuck. Did we know it was a party?” Jack asked. The number of witnesses to question meant it was going to be a long night. “I hope the uniforms have kept the scene from being trampled.”

A constable met them at the door and confirmed he’d corralled most of the guests away from the where the body had been found.

“His wife spotted him and one of the guests fished him out. Attempts to revive him were unsuccessful,” the constable explained, as he led them through the house to a patio out back.

The lifeless body of man lay on the edge of a swimming pool. Standing next to the body was a woman, dripping wet, and wrapped in a large towel. Jack heard Hugh’s startled gasp just behind him.

“Hello, Inspector,” she said, cheerfully. He returned her greeting with a tilt of his head and a sternly arched eyebrow.

“Constable, what is this civilian doing at my scene?”

“She’s the one that pulled him from the pool.”

“That much I’d deduced on my own, but why is she _still_ here?”

“She, um, well, she asked to stay,” the young man stammered. Jack could only imagine how she’d manipulated the poor sod, he almost felt sorry for him.

He took hold of her elbow and began to steer her away from the body.

“Come on, Jack! I secured the scene for you and I’m the one that told them to ask for you specifically when it was called in!”

“Much appreciated, but when you call the fire brigade you don’t get to hang around to put out the fire. Sergeant Collins, please escort Miss Fisher inside with the other guests.”

Before he handed her over, he leaned close and hissed into her ear; “You’ll do anything to get me to one of these events of yours.”

She failed to hide her small snicker of laughter. “Inspector Robinson! A man is dead,” she whispered in mock horror, then added; “not a very nice man, but still.”

“I look forward to hearing all your opinions on the matter but I’d rather not be held responsible if you were to freeze to death. I have enough on my plate,” he said, looking her significantly the eye, “Later, Phryne. Please?”

She headed toward the house then stopped, throwing a coy smile over her shoulder. "Be sure to take a look at that bruising around his neck, Jack. That man did not drown.

Suddenly, the long night ahead of him didn’t look so bad.

 


End file.
